my grandmother's name was muna
they called her mna,
she had eyes greener
than the mint she pressed
into her husbands tea,
hands small as a child's,
stronger than a soldier's
five foot, maybe
if she stretched
she was
a woman
married a boy she knew her entire life,
a pilot's wife, ear constantly tuned towards the radio
for signs of accidents in the sky
slept with her head on his shoulder every night
she was
a wife
life spent in a constant cycle of
kneading, nourishing, and loving
birthed nine children,
two who's faces the next moon
never saw,
countless others
lost in utero,
she loved them all,
painfully
she was a mother
never learned to read,
but taught her daughters
a woman must learn to do everything
told time by the way the light
hit the wall
worked with her elbows, knees,
and neck
broke her back
to erect the spine
of a home
she never slept in
taught her daughters
to love with their entire body
but her sons
she loved from a place
low in her stomach,
that roared up and welled over,
that stretched across oceans,
riding on tides
hard and deep,
some nights they still say her name
in their sleep
she was amazing
i never knew her
i only have the stories
about her eyes,
how they were
green
greener than the na'anah
she put in her tea,
greener than the sea
in winter
greener than the grass
in the month before summer,
when the sun comes to make everything dry
i only have the stories
about how her hair
was two black braids that hung to her waist,
and the way she sat when she ate.
i never knew her
so i wrote a poem
so i could feel
like i know her
my grandmother's name was muna
and they called her mna
