The Grandmothers Who Refused to Burn- Chapter 5 The Pigtail Monster

The Grandmothers Who Refused to Burn –

Chapter 5 The Pigtail Monster

by Eva Marie Woywod and friends - Dedicated to Mom.

They are speaking now, all of them, in the single voice that belongs to every woman who was ever told to be quiet.

Do not turn away.

Do not hide those eyes.

We were the ones you called witch,

the ones you dragged from warm beds at dawn,

ripping our children from our arms,

the ones whose names you scrubbed from the church rolls,

the hearts you pinned the scarlet letter upon,

the ones whose children you took “for their own good,”

and sold when you were done.

We were the ones you beat for speaking in tongues,

the ones you beat for not speaking at all,

the ones you locked in asylums for seeing what was coming,

the ones you hung from trees and called justice,

just as kings before you took our heads.

We called out then.

You laughed.

You pointed.

You shunned.

You turned away.

Every time, you turned away.

No more.

The child you are reading this to right now,

the one curled against your side,

the one whose eyes are older than their years,

that child did not turn away.

They know the dark the way we do.

They have felt the cold of a living nightmare

that no bedtime prayer has ever managed to chase off.

They heard Mary weep and were comforted,

because finally, finally, someone in heaven was crying with them instead of at them.

This story found its way into your hands for one reason only:

so you will stop turning away.

Look at them.

Right now.

Look into those eyes that have already seen too much.

Be ready to catch the tear that has been waiting years for a safe place to land.

Selene is already in the sky.

Lior’s hair is unknotting like prophecy.

Asha is running barefoot over every stone ever thrown.

Josephina and the Grandmothers Who Refused to Burn are thundering closer,

braids flying,

dolls tucked inside every apron pocket,

horses forged from every promise a woman ever kept

and every promise life broke.

They are coming for the child beside you.

They are coming for every child who was told their pain was imaginary,

or sinful,

or inconvenient.

Do not close the book.

Do not change the subject.

Do not say “it’s just a story.”

Hold them.

Let the tear fall.

Let it be the first one that is finally caught instead of punished.

The grandmothers are almost here.

And this time, no one is turning away.

Now look that child in the eye

and take in the ancient wisdom they quietly offer back to you.

Good night.

Blessed dreams.

Givers of Light.

On the way are the owl feathers and silver strands of care.

Just look, Selene’s wings are taking flight.

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This chapter is dedicated to my Great Grandma Josephine Elliott nee Lockwood from Mt. Pleasant, MI

When I was young and on our visits there she always had a new doll waiting for me. I just remember a special connection and more on a knowing level.