My mother’s father was stationed in France during World War II.
He met my grandmother while there and married her in uniform.

They raised four daughters together—
my mother the youngest.

He continued what he’d been taught by his own parents:
hiding funds in secret places,
practicing thriftiness left over from the Great Depression.

My mother’s version of being treated
was getting to shop the thrift stores.
Money was her love language—
being provided for, her version of wealth.

She gave my father everything
for his dream of owning a small business.
When he couldn’t handle the dream made real,
she left him.

Her inheritance was spent,
and neither she nor he could accept
that they didn’t know how to receive,
how to tend to what they’d been given.

They only knew they had to act freer
than their parents had been—
for what had their mothers and fathers
sacrificed otherwise?

My life is wealth.
My spirituality is the container
that holds priceless treasures.

I am a magnet for love,
a poet soul—
a lover.

Freedom is my love language.

We are either taught what wealth is,
or we create our own versions.
And whatever version that is,
it must align with what we love—
for magnetism is born of that.

© 2025 Raven | Jasmine on the Grave. All rights reserved.