1 “Our Roots” By Gabrielle Gruszynski Lake Oconee Academy, 2021 Madam President, Madam Vice President, Roots. Reaching into the depths of the earth, coupling the minerals and memories of the rotting bygone. In the way the willow tree hums in the wind, its branches brushing against a supple spring and its roots too grasp for the knowledge within. The pine and evergreen, the oak, the birch, the sycamore all singing the songs of our youth. For the tips of our fingers reach back into the dirt and unearth a story. Flecks of sapphire mix with cobalt to make the stars in our eyes, glossed over with a sheen of light and reason. We have seen feet pad against the grass, racing to reach a dream just out of grip. Tasted our mothers’ spoon fed batter against our tongues, hoping to one day recreate her perfection. Listened to our grandmothers’ honeyed and high-pitched tales of swords, dragons, and the dashing prince racing to rescue a princess. Touched the brink and brisk of an impenetrable abyss, lingering in the backs of our brains. And smelled the sense of victory amongst champions when we finally broke the unbendable. For the perturbed and convulsed earth trickling from our palms, tells the same story: I am strong because strong women have raised me. We have built a livelihood from each individual brick, formed of red clay and desert hills. Each passing though the palms of our hands, spackled across generations; today, we finally lay the last one to rest. The last piece of the jigsaw, each duck carefully tucked in its row, each uncracked eggshell lying in a woven basket. Each convention, each protest, each march just to gain the unalienable rights gifted to us by our creator. For his word claims that the roots traced along the lines in our hands, connected to our heartstrings, give us a spot under our own vine and fig tree. And that we shall not be afraid. Each revolutionary, each insubordinate, each subversive movement falling from the sky, like drops of rain or glistening snowflakes. For they have broken the shackles that bind women to a simple household. But well-behaved women rarely make history. 2 Every Audrey Hepburn, Ada Lovelace, Harriet Tubman, Frida Kahlo, Every Wilma Mankiller, Every Helen Keller, Marie Curie, Every Amelia Earhart, Shirley Chisholm, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Louisa May Alcott, Coco Chanel, Katherine Johnson, Every Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Every Gloria Steinem, Michelle Obama, Every Kamala Harris, Every working mother, or loving grandmother, or sagacious great-grandmother, And every daughter, amassed in her youth, looking to her predecessors for answers, Preserve. Grasp the roots that couple memories and minerals and bind them together in our palms. Interlock images and ancestors to sing out the songs of this great nation. Of the triumphs and the failures of what it means to be female. On this momentous day, we call back to the pine and evergreen, the oak, the birch, the sycamore. To their deep treaded stories amongst the lush earth, And to dig just below the surface of soil, To reach our Roots. .