Song of the Ancestors

for Elder Malidome Some

Tonight the ancestors circle close—

and candles flicker between worlds

where souls pass to and fro. 

I have heard them coming and going –

murmuring prayers, humming songs

that come from the center of the earth. 

*

There are those who tend the portals

through time. There are those who dwell

in the canyons, caves, and lakes who sing

the whole world into being 

again and again.

There are those who hold the drumbeat

through the rise and fall of empire

and sit at the loom at the center 

of the universe to weave the next story.

Tonight the ancestors circle close—

and we who have forgotten how

to tend the holy are being asked to remember.

To clear the patterns that have twisted 

the essence of our lineage.

To make amends.

To bring honey and balm to the places

in ourselves that have carried

wounds and atrocities. 

To call down the blessings of the line

that reimagines itself through our living. 

Some say all the pains of the world,

all the great imbalances of our time

come from the restlessness 

of the unrecognized ancestors.

And some say that all the beauty

of the world comes from the visions

of the descendants, calling us forth.

For we too will pass in and out

of bodies—through the hallways of time.

We will be called upon by our grandchildren’s

grandchildren—to light the way a while

with the lantern the size of the moon.

We will be asked about the magic of old—

that most ordinary magic

of seasons and light and seeds.

Tonight, the ancestors circle close –

and our hearth fires speak in their tongue.

Lay the table with marigold and pomegranate,

with scarlet leaves and gourds. For together

we are already dreaming the next year’s arc.

Together, we are already dreaming 

the story to come. 

©Laura Weaver

LauraWeaver.org