My hands were no good.
It wasn’t until I fell down in the mud,
Facedown and shaking, that I understood —
I needed to call for help.
And they came.
All of them.
Every woman I had ever been
Surrounded me.
She — the first to arrive —
Called me love and kissed my forehead.
"Your hands work fine," she said.
"These hands — our hands —
Have held on to too many harmful things.
Learn to let go.
Pick up the good things, the ones that nourish you.
Nourish us."
And then she was gone.
Then came Baby Girl —
Singing softly, placing her ear to my heart.
"The hole in your heart has healed.
I no longer hear the murmur.
Your heart is good."
She reminded me of the time we ran through the wet grass,
Escaping our abuser.
"We found solace beneath that ancient peach tree.
They couldn’t see us in the dark.
We just stayed there and breathed.
We made it.
We survived.
You need to get back to picking peaches.
Stretch your fingers toward the sweetest one you can find."
And with that, she was gone.
Eartha swept in on a whirlwind,
Speaking in strong gusts:
"Remember how you gripped the side of the bed
As you brought your daughter into the world?
Girl, what happened next?"
Leona moved in silently,
Sniffing the air with caution before she approached.
"Baby, ain’t you tired?
I know you’re tired."
She handed me a cup of tea.
It smelled like rose.
"Good for the heart.
Good for growing."
They oiled my hair
Their hands untangling every knot.
They bathed me in a river of love and plenty and oiled my skin.
And slowly, I came back to myself.
I was clean and unblemished.
Made whole by the work of my own hands.
Powerful, beautiful assurance about life. Thank you, Teresa!