We heard your voice today.
Low, rumbling, gravelly.
A voice of kindness, love, acceptance.
We knew it wasn’t you, because we saw
you in the coffin so many years ago.
But it was your voice…
We were little again, wrapped in your warm arms,
Resting against you and feeling your heart beat.
We smelled the wood smoke from your stove,
The kerosene from your lamp,
Your lavender toilet water.
We felt safe, cared for, loved.
The troubles, fear, pain all disappeared.
One little girl nestled in the arms of
one old, tired black woman that let us just be with her.
Oh, how we love and miss you Jewell!
Oh, how we treasure that love and safety!
You gave us the gift of you.
Forever and for always.
–Judy Kukuruza
We Heard Your Voice Today
We heard your voice today.
Low, rumbling, gravelly.
A voice of kindness, love, acceptance.
We knew it wasn’t you, because we saw
you in the coffin so many years ago.
But it was your voice…
We were little again, wrapped in your warm arms,
Resting against you and feeling your heart beat.
We smelled the wood smoke from your stove,
The kerosene from your lamp,
Your lavender toilet water.
We felt safe, cared for, loved.
The troubles, fear, pain all disappeared.
One little girl nestled in the arms of
one old, tired black woman that let us just be with her.
Oh, how we love and miss you Jewell!
Oh, how we treasure that love and safety!
You gave us the gift of you.
Forever and for always.
—Judy Kukuruza
Judy Kukuruza is a retired college instructor, continual student of others and bleeding heart peace lover. She has written since she learned to write. Her memoir, One Body, Many Souls, was published in 2018.
Beautiful, Judy. Oh, that all children would have someone who would wrap them in her or his arms, so they could feel safe, cared for and loved. Thank you.