Family Sparrows

I am a woman, residing here, nearly 28 years.

only now am I finding my voice.

before, I was a sparrow, caged in my own learned behavior,

blaming the woes of my life on the forces

that held my sanity together.

before that, I was a girl grasping at ropes

dangling my freedom,

the rough woven lessons were beaten against,

but only I came out battered.

before then, I was a child lost in a world

where time rotated inward, 

a box filled with toys and turmoil covered by an umbrella.

before this, I was an infant to a girl

who was on her last climb toward womanhood,

in her arms I felt unconditional love and unaddressed shame. 

she gently set her wings aside to nurture a new dream.

before then, she was a child ignored,

swinging from treetops in search of her own freedom. 

she was metamorphosing, but only because

her world demanded such.

before this, she was an infant,

held in the trembling arms of a girl

whose life I wish I knew more about,

whose enigma is wrapped in distaste and understanding.

before then, my grandmother was just a child,

in a world I cannot imagine. 

she had dreams, aspirations, excitement, bias, regret, shame.

her bare feet, hot on a dirt road,

running through memories I will not know.

and before this she was an infant

held by a girl with a stern demeanor 

shrouded in red dust and mystery. 

I am a woman, of nearly 28, in search of my freedom 

with a penance for ignorance and a glutton for shame. 

I have dwelled on the sparrows

handed down from mother to child 

and with indifference I have ignored the beauty of life gifted.

will my grandchildren ignore this gift as well,

will they even exist?

or is freedom for a woman breaking the chain instead of handing off the challenge?