Old Age | Double Strand Helix
BY QUANIQUA ‘KHEMISTRY’ WILLIAMS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Quaniqua ‘Khemistry’ Williams’ poetry has been a companion, connector and friend-in-need since her middle school days. Her pen finds its way into her hands to help her navigate her emotions and feel liberated, a feeling that resonates with those who read her work. Quaniqua’s poetry has been featured in the Langley Film Festival and in UK poetry groups. Since 2021, she has received funding from the Inatai Foundation to facilitate writing workshops and open mics in her community.
Sharing the special powers of poetry with her communities is as important to Quaniqua as the poetry itself. Her writing workshops create spaces where writers from diverse intersections are able to share their writing, get to know each other better and bridge the gap between elite and beginning writers.
Quaniqua carries her love for building inclusive communities into her work as a DEIJ consultant. She supports organizations and companies to take the steps necessary to create a culture of mutual respect, appreciation of differences and shared belonging. Her DEIJ workshops demonstrate her abilities as a speaker who connects deeply with audiences, helping them move easily through blockages, in order to promote a healthy organizational climate.
Quaniqua ‘Khemistry” Williams is a poet in action, demonstrating through her life and work that poetry and community are one. Her poetry selections connect with the abiding love and beauty of an aging grandmother and the pain of absence of a mother’s love.
Old Age
© 2023
I gaze upon your face
Knowing full well that time has had its way with you
Stamped its approval on your smile lines
And kissed the gray strands that twinkle among your eyebrows
We lock eyes
And I unravel the pain of the things you've seen
The stories your hunched back tells about your work ethic
The love your arthritic hands speak through your rings
I behold the certainty in your voice
I find strength in the efforts you make to utter the words, "Family is everything"
Your cheeks are mountains
Below the valley where tears are known to flow
As they flush away the agony
Of losses you’ve borne … a husband, a child, a sister and more …
Every fold of skin
Holds your secrets to thriving in the most adverse conditions
I watch your hands shake to a rhythm
That dwells in your youthful spirit
You are ever ready to embrace us
Though less vigorous, your arms still hold buckets of love
Light and lively
Unencumbered by the weight of youthful ambitions
Your quavering prayers encourage my existence
And I'm grateful for the blessing
I'm honored that you remember my name … though age and time
Have faded many of your recollections
It's not the elasticity of youthfulness that
Contributes to a beautiful soul
It's the love, the sacrifices, the prayers … the longevity
That we witness in the elderly
It's the miles trekked in the well-worn body
That builds me up and inspires me
The knowledge stored in those old bones
Are what makes this life worth living.
Double Strand Helix
© 2023
I never craved your conversation the way I do today.
I lay bare
The burdens we share
to exist as SHE
The double strands to my helix,
Wrapped carefully
Around the toxicity that created me,
and I still search for respect where the binding meets.
I wonder if we only share a chemical bond
Baby delivered
Mother slithers deep into depression
And rescuing her from the oppression
Of guilt … or shame
Suppresses the way love should encompass our language.
Everything is silent.
Nights like this,
I would cry,
But my eyes are all out of tears.
Years before
The pillow cradled my face
as warm streams
saturated its surface.
The sound of sorrow and agony never escaped.
They were trapped in my rib cage,
Where I kept the pain
Tucked away.
Heaviness trapped my voice.
no sounds escaped my lips.
I sniffled away,
Realizing, “This is my reality.”
Those old tissues know more about
My suffering
Than anybody.
They carefully hold the secrets of when I wanted my mother.
They understood that my eyes were too tired to lead my grief
My olfactory system
Facilitated a great release,
While sadness pounded
Every memory
Of the distance into my brain,
Toggling for change – a release of her empathy.
Her apathy restricted the blood flow to my sagacity,
The lack of explanation
Engorged my heart, causing
The headache of my truth to show physically.
If God keeps tears in a skin bottle, mine must be overflowing.
Maybe it's a cistern that holds greater capacity.
My eyes appear bloodshot as I peer
Into the uncertainty
Of our relationship.
How could a mother go so long without talking to her baby?
I constantly check my phone to see if there's a notification from ‘Mom’
It's been a long time that I've been in this practice
Playing the waiting game …
Two months
four months
eight months
a year….
She gets locked into her world
And never lets me in.
When I lose my appetite for connection,
I reflect on the factors she presents:
No involvement …
no praise …
no attachment.
I exist as SHE
The daughter of a mother,
A double strand helix
Wrapped in complexities.