Though The World Forgot, Oh Child of Mine

 (When you feel a connection to those who are a part of a story or memory or even a dream)

A letter from Maëlle, written in tide and memory, over time

I didn’t leave a grave.
I left a tide.
Let Katrina carry me where land could no longer hold me.
My bones scattered into salt and hush,
my name etched in barnacles
on the underside of every porch that still stands.

But you—you heard me, child.
Before you knew my name,
you were already humming my lullabies
while stirring your first pot of scented oils.

You wonder how my line kept on,
how my children moved far from the swamp edge
and into places where the air cracked cold
and moss didn’t speak the same.

But don’t you know?

Some seeds ride wind.

Some stories choose skin that hasn’t even been born yet.

I had daughters...

at least, for a while.

Some I bore,

some I simply raised

because no one else would.

A few made it north

before the water swallowed our house whole

and the land turned soft with memory.

They didn’t all stay alive,

but they stayed in the world.

They became quiet women with wild gifts,

with children they didn’t always claim aloud,

but always watched with knowing eyes.

You, sweet thing...

you carry the full stretch of it.

The bayou and the ridgeline,

the moss of Appalachia

and the silence that rides Midwest wind

like a forgotten song still finding its key.

You don’t need the tongue.

You got the taste.

You don’t need the map.

You carry the path in your blood.

That jolt you felt on Louisiana soil?

That wasn’t déjà vu.

That was recognition.

Your sister felt it too..

but not everyone can hold that flame

without burning.

She had to leave.

But you…

you stayed in spirit.

You ask how you know what you know.

I say: hush now.

You remember.

That’s all.

And when the wind turns lace against the fences

and the moon smells of cinnamon and iron,

know I am near..

not watching.

Woven.

You are the last daughter I left behind

before I let the water take me.

And child,

you are doing just fine.