if God was a woman on earth - An ode to my grandmother

my grandmother’s name is Verna some look at her and see section 8, welfare checks, abuse and neglect they see insufficiency, ignorant independency, a trench-condemned wreck no collegiate education, no high-school diploma, they see a lack of dedication they look in my grandmother’s eyes and with the snap of their fingers subject her to poverty, they banish her to being a pawn in their monopoly they gratuitously perpetuate their hate and generously project their mental state and to this? my grandmother smiles, she says Ladybug, don’t worry about me, they don’t know They don’t know that my grandmother has built diamonds of men in the rough she has made roses of women out of concrete mountains move at the sound of her step she makes even what is long lost feel kept her smile could make a fish breathe out of water i could posses no humanly title more noble than her granddaughter there is no greater honor that I am allowed no duer justice of mine than to make her proud my grandmother sculpted my spirit with calloused hands and a heart overflowing, imbuing me with a strength born not of privilege, but of fiercely earned knowing they don’t know about the lullabies she’s sung through thin walls, how many time she’s picked me up from my falls, and more importantly how she doesn’t keep count her motherhood, a tapestry woven with threads of sacrifice and strands of grace, a masterpiece unseen by eyes that only value pedigree and place my grandmother has raised generations of excellence. don’t believe me? just open your eyes-you never met a woman so sagacious-so wise-so gracious-even with my words you couldn’t surmise I’m talking about a charisma you wouldn’t believe, a resilience you couldn’t conceive, a wit you could never deceive, a love you wouldn’t know how to receive, if i died and said I never knew unconditional love, I would be a bold-faced lie i think my grandma would raise up out her grave and set the record straight with a fire burning in her eye hell, call it blasphemy but I think my grandmother’s touch could make a blind man see her soul breaking chains and setting lives free my grandmother’s name is Verna and if God was a woman on earth, then I’ve been a disciple since birth