...as I sat on the edge of that bed in that mostly gutted house, weed and trap-music wafting under the door, we looked in each other's eyes and saw eons and worlds. He was vacillating between wanting to deeply connect with a kindred soul, and wanting to impress the chick sitting inches from him on a bed.
He said,
"Please don't take offense to this, but there's something... you, you're like... an old... lady, I mean, uh, you have like this beautiful grandmother energy, but its like... you are her, or shes you... both, but different...I don't know."
As the weed settled into him it made its famous cocktail of lowered inhibitions mixed with heightened self-consciousness. But he needn't worry about offending; I knew exactly what he meant.
You see 'the women' have been talking to me, talking through me, my whole life. The grandmothers, the mothers, the matrons, matriarchs and mavens.
And here I seek to give them voice and in hope or vain, I find mine.