She wore the faces of the many before her,
and spoke using their stolen breaths.
Her grandmother’s, mother’s voice had found its way back to life
after being suppressed for generations.
Surfacing finally, after having been drowned out.
Each word she never said, now played in silent rounds within her great-granddaughter’s spirit sense.
Words running deeper and deeper still
until they had carved out their meanings into echoing depths
where bated breaths moved resonating chords to chime and rise into a soul-filled hum of acknowledgement.
A resolute nod of the head.
And a hand to the heart where the ringing chord had been firmly struck, and played its bell toll.
So marking in time the moment when the point had come clear.
Understanding how the plight of so many had latched itself to her roots.