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Marie Josee Zamor

Laval

I know a queen, her name sounds sweet. She cares for me, more than she cares for her. Her knowledge is great, and she’s known to all, as honest and noble. Her vision is great, her past is… but she is, was, so much greater. My grandmother’s name was Derisia. She gave birth to two daughters, one passing away very early on, and my mother. In the 1950’s of a place like Haiti, there wasn’t only rich or poor, white or black, light or dark, city or country, men or woman but I will say; a wonderfully confusing atmosphere. I alloy myself to describe it that way, for I found myself, after visiting Haiti in 2012, after her passing, calling it, wonderfully chaotic. Details are not mine to share, but I know she was separated from her daughter, before the age of 7. That kind of injustice didn’t have the kind of law, to balance things out. Especially since, it wasn’t for a better life. Years later, my mother found her mother, and took the necessary steps to be reunited. By then, my mother was a wife, and a mother of three, and living in Canada. I was three when my grandmother came to live with us, the baby of the family. I remember her smile, the softness or her tight black curls, that became gray and white with time. If I close my eyes I can see the peaceful revolution that I use to see in her eyes, but only has a mature woman, I can now say, I understand. She didn’t know how to read or write, but I distinctively remember her holding a pen, whenever she needed to X her signature. She had the right words and always knew what to say even if it was the sound of silence. Being a mother was taken away from her, she didn’t get to be there, to do what mothers did. From such hurt, was birthed a woman of wisdom and someone with a discerning spirit. Intelligent, noble and graceful, she was, to the full length of her capacity. My mother was not raised by her mother. In some ways, neither was I. So although an outstanding provider, a god-fearing soul and real wife/partner for my dad, she could not give what she did not herself receive. So Derisia was given an opportunity in 1987, with her granddaughter, me, to be a mother, a caregiver. To overflow of the love she would have given her child, if it would have been possible. I was loved. Loved I say. I am often told that I am wise beyond my years, and without throwing shade to my own experiences… She has a great deal to do, with every mountain that I, have/ will move. I met a queen, she knew my name. She would hear if I cried quietly at night, she would have me sit up and go on my knees to pray. I would read at loud a verse from her bible and she would repeat after me. I didn’t understand how much more it was for me then her. Her words were gems, her kisses velvet, her touch was gold, and her heart diamond. She taught me more, that I was bound to know. I know a queen, I love a queen, I am inspired by a queen, I remember a queen and has long has a live I will thrive to be a queen.