I come from a long line of women:Silvery, tall and silent.And after generations of:Carrying water jars on heads, carrying harvests in arms,Carrying coffees in hands, carrying babies on hips,We have come to thisBig Blue House. So my mother and I sit,Hand in hand, on this couch.The blanket covering us is: From Montenegro, made with a deep blue patternNot enough to keep the bone-chilling cold out As she relates another instance ofToo Much Feeling. My mother has the eyes heavy with the Silver, the Stature, and the SilenceShe keeps the sanity of:My aunts, my uncles, my cousins, my grandfathersMy long-gone grandmothers, my father, my sister, my brother, And makes time to hold my hand and quietMy Cruel Demons I wait and watch with anStill Growing Body,Readying myself to carry:My water, my harvests, my coffees, my weeping babiesMy family, and my ever-bent bent mother.I stifle my demons and find the means toStill Keep Going.