“The more I shifted my scattered thoughts in her favor, the urge to pay homage to such a strong matriarch began to overwhelm me.”
Coming up on the anniversary of my grandmother giving back her energy from whence it came; our beloved Marie Trahan; has been on my conscience.
In the very early morning hours a few days ago; as I tried to get a handle on my own internal struggles; her memories started to bloom. More vibrantly; more intense. The more I shifted my scattered thoughts in her favor, the urge to pay homage to such a strong matriarch began to overwhelm me.
Only recently I learned a scholarship fund was created in her honor in partnership with her long time employer of 25 years Susman Godfrey; administered by the foundation of the Dallas-based J.L. Turner Legal Association; – The Marie Trahan/Susman Godfrey Scholarship.
The law firm of Susman Godfrey L.L.P. has endowed a new scholarship
that will be awarded each year to an African-American law student who is a
resident of Texas. The scholarship can be used at any accredited law school
in the country.
Suffice to say, salty tears was the ink of choice for the poem below.
I still miss that gal…
What is a legacy
If it only lives
At the bottom of the sea?
Passing with the deceased?
In honor of Marie
Shall be the inspiration
For you and me
Plant these seeds
Far and wide
As we do our best
To help them shine
I am not a has-been. I am a will be. -Lauren Bacall
“Sweat pours down my face; a stream of boiling lava scorching my skin.”
“Welcome back. Didn’t expect to see you so soon,” the horned-one growled with distaste; exposing long, battered fangs.
The stench of rotting souls fills the air. The sound of otherworldly shrieks and ever so violent fluttering of flesh-covered wings is deafening. Hooves stumbling over stones and shattered bones create a low, thunderous rumble. Sharp claws scratching in failed attempts at stable footing are akin to nails on chalkboard.
It appears my presence has caused some “uncomfortableness;” I thought.
As the creature eluded, this “space” was not foreign to me. Not long ago a great war was fought on this very soil. The indigenous suffered defeat. Forever lost numbers never before seen.
The tension was understandable.
Sweat pours down my face; a stream of boiling lava scorching my skin. I close my eyes; slightly tilting my head back.
As I stand there; soaking up the energy from a familiar battleground; fond memories of yore are interrupted.
“What brings you back?” timid lips muttered.
I open my eyes. I bring my head back forward and down; just past center. I reach for the gnarled, battle worn grip of my sword.
My Spirit; my Energy; conveys an all too often and clear message.
“I’m not done yet.”