Work Text:
I wonder how old some parts of me are
How ancient is my laugh? The way my eyes crinkle when I smile? My cries from mourning?
How much earth do I carry in my lungs? How much water do I carry in my limbs?
Do those that came before me see themselves in how my hands or mind works? Do they see my struggles and scorn me or do they try to offer me comfort?
Do they look at me and think “silly girl, stupid child, reckless boy”?
Do they look at me and think “wonderful girl, amazing child, beautiful boy”?
How many of them love me as only those that came before can?
How many cheer me on in my endeavors, how many try to balm my hurts when I fall?
How many look at me and say “He is of the dry deserts we once roamed!” “No, she is of our tallest peaks shaded by our ancient trees!” “They could only be of our deep coastal waters!”
Do any of them say, “Fools, all of you! The children are of all of us! Look upon them and see our deepest humanity carried into their hearts!”
How many look at us exploring the world with kind eyes? How many lost their kindness and so instead sand sentinel at our sides and over our shoulders to keep us safe in the way they know how? How many try to help guide us and teach us while we search?
When I I help tend to my neighbors garden with her, how old is that? When I collect seeds to save over the winter, how old is that? When I pick and cut flowers to dry and press, how old is that?
Do they see me find charcoal and draw on rocks with it and cheer that something so human has preserved all this time?
Do they see me and my friends tell stories and sit near each other by fires in the dead of night?
Do they hear us tell stories that they used to, that leased all of time?
I hope that all of them, all of those who came before me, can look at all of us and see how ancient our very lives are.