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Gramma's Hands
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amazin’ grace, how sweet the sound that saved the wretch in me. i once was lost, but now am found. was blind, but now i can see.
When I never knew my Gramma’s Hands, I borrowed Bill Withers’ in their stead. I imagined them leathered by sun mixed with grief cobblin’ peaches and cream for my Homecoming feast. But how could I know they would breadcrumb me home? Angeling lyrics, these tunes, through these strings of our own? Picking them out across space until just the right time; I could savor what she’d given us as cousins to find.
Seems I might have known my Gramma’s Hands. I too need them to sing since the songs began. Always thinking and gifting the ones that I love. Marveling on number, patterns, fractals and such. Her voice with its soothe, gentle questions to guide. People now grateful up as my qualities that shine. I’ve spent half my life being woefully unkind, so it’s astonishing to see my Gramma’s Hands might be mine.
Was her soothing and goodness wrought in the fires of her loss?Becoming that beautiful soul conveyed by Kubler Ross? For there were untold memories she could not make be, and had to settle for unspeaking them into her grief. Moving everywhere under the eastern sun as the mother to ones that scrolled off her tongue. She carried so much of what she’d been denied. I know to her I died but our song gave me life.
I’ve always known my Gramma’s Hands. She gave me this heart (and I’ve found my way back.) Didn’t know I was lost ‘til her song got me found. The one she also belted to lay her burden down. She found it as hard to find her words, to give voice to her joy, her pain and hurt. With her voice and these strings, we will finally write the melodies strung across these arcs of our lives.
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Mudsong Bemidji, Minnesota
Mudsong crafts stories that give voice to our breaking human hearts. Thomas King said, “The truth about stories is that’s all we are." The truth about Mudsong is songstories are all we are. Original stories. Soulful songs. Crafted from the sloppy mess of life? That's what we do. Our evenings open on the hearthfire of the bass guitar, shimmy through the saxophone, and linger over heart and soul. ... more
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