This Mama Caravan began at hOMe in Vista, San Diego County, California, USA

I Hope You Understand (or, Relationships Are Everything) Blackened feet Dirt laden from dancing underneath An earthly, green and blue canopy Where yellow and black gopher snakes slither
under the warm, nearly summer sun and cackling coyotes run and howl on moonlit nites as we walk together. In silence but mainly in commotion and action. Your daughters, my son Our children climb and swing up, up, up as you and I revel in our humanity's technological advances and reclaim our vibrant sisterhood. Down, down, down our covered feet pad To the good creek where tiny and quarter-sized frogs hop and croak punctuating these confounding times with the calming balm of their ancient song. Outside this nurturing womb Our earth quakes with fear advancing diseases, invisible intruders, life's partner Death. And our nation burns Systems fall, no fucks given Enraged over hundreds and thousands of years of trauma Colored bodies desecrated on the altar of white supremacy. But here in your home At this hearth We stir an ancient elixir of breath in tune With these beating hearts We feel from the soles of our feet To the scalp of our head We sense what's coming as we pull in Deeper, tears of grief soaking our faces Peals of laughter ringing out across these foothills arms of comfort wrapped tightly round each other. We bless it all Sacred and holy Profound and profane. Releasing the past
we now gently walk forward holding our own shadow's hand. Noticing when and how our fantasies lay as we return to this present to our ever-evolving sense of center. And each day I awake to my beeloved,
He who holds us from the other side. Widow now to an almost six-year old,
this is my riot.
Marching in the streets replaced with the innocence of a childhood vigilantly protected. This is my protest.
I hope you understand.

(A poem I wrote in gratitude after these weeks in May.) 3 weeks, to mark a soft, unofficial beginning of our Caravan back in May. We dropped back into a family constellation that feels like home, where we could partially live out of their garage and use their home at our discretion. Vista is also the town where I grew up. First through twelfth grade in the unified school district there where I would march through the downtown, city streets performing flips or while flipping flags in holiday parades. Three girls, whom I once ferried home from school 3x/week when C was an infant, were out of school (due to Covid). So, our days were filled with daily, vibrant energy for baking, collecting tiny frogs and paddling in a kayak on the good creek, role playing in dress-up and so much more. It was also here on May 2020, at the ranch home of one of my best friend's, where I first felt Burt in the wind and where I dropped into My Dance of Grief.

©2020 by Cara H Cadwallader.