Matriarchy

I know what people say about African women, 

especially aunties, and sometimes I laugh along 

but I cannot help but combust into sparks of joy 

when I think about the women in my family. 

They’ve fled from Civil War (and stayed in civil wars). 

They’re prayer warriors, mind benders, barrier breakers. 

They don’t just fight systems, they make new ones.

My aunties and my mothers and my sisters 

teach me about being, braiding, bartering, 

I learn bantering, bargaining, becoming.                    

Yes, the women in my family are strong. 

They have created in me unbreakable bonds 

no - they have bonded to me confidence and shine. 

The women in my family are bold, jumping into icy lakes

at the break of dawn rather than run at full speed to tidy the home.

But 

for the women in my family for whom that is their domain, 

In the home they reign with grace.

Their food is gold honey and fresh laughter. Their advice is a Sunday hug.

The women in my family are master negotiators,

when they want you grounded their dreams are prophetic 

(and I must say willingly I believe because at least 1 in 3 dreams hold meaning). 

The women in my family, some of them 

are Chanel bags, bottled perfume and ‘know your worth!’ 

Others are ‘No, your worth lies 

in your soul not on your body’. 

The women in my family inspire poetry. 

The women in my family aren’t perfect, 

and sometimes we disagree but the women 

in my family are deeply, truly and desperately 

forever a part of me.