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I went to visit my grandmother yesterday and I took a belated birthday gift to her. 74. Amazing. I call her my tree, and she calls me her acorn. All my life I have been making clever connections as to why I would be her acorn. I have heard funny stories of her that remind me of my own rebellious nature, and ticked her off enough to feel her tough love. Never have I stopped wondering so much about her: her strength and where it comes from, how she always keeps it real no matter what, and whether I, too will be handed down the ability to not stress the small stuff and continue to take in all good things that maintain gratitude.

My tree, her roots dig deep into the soil.

Within the strength of her branches:


Maternal empathy,



Strength, she has never had any other choice but to be rooted in strength.

My tree, 

In her eyes I see many things,

Stories untold,

I see power. I see –

An undeniable appreciation 

For life,

I see many nights that she most likely did weep,

But the best of trees stand tall 

And don’t let the winds of a storm uproot them.

Had a dream last night

That she and I wept together

After she told me her own 

Hurts and mistakes of the past, and I thanked her for she had healed me.

And while that conversation need not ever truly take place,

Within that dream, she helped to solidify 


And years 

And generations of healing, respect, and understanding.

I will always take pictures of captivating trees wherever I go. But, the most amazing one – well, just take a look:

In “Show yourself, Grace,” I reference my late great-grandmother, the mother of my tree.

Jusjess Poetry – Writing My Way Into My Destiny

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