Blended Respect

image

There was a day.
When I felt ashamed to be me.
As sad as that sounds.
It’s part of the story.
Today.
I’ve come to respect these blended roots,
I used to shun.
Because I was afraid to feel.
I think this is why we all reject the blended truth.
The pain is too great.

I can see the dark-skinned mothers of my lineage.
Who birthed ghost babies.
Children they’d never hold, kiss, or comfort.
Singing empty lullabies in the fields
The deepest blue alive.

Ode to the Native women.
With flowing raven hair.
That blended and nurtured.
My fathers fathers.
Behold! A generation.
That would never know their names.

The struggle was their reality.
Some days I still fight the shadows.

And to all the ladies.
Fine and fair as cream.
Taking their rightful place in my past
Shining in the green eyes and fair skin of my own son.

This.

It makes me think of them all.
Almost with a sense of longing.
To know them and hear their stories.
And I can.
When I hold my little boy.
Or when I watch him sleeping.
With enkindled peace.

I’m moved in the seat of my soul.
That my present.
Was their future.
It’s all come full circle.
My Grandmother says, it’s how it has always been.
She suspects.
It’s the way it will always be.
In our family.
Black, Red and White.
It’s the reason.
I’m me.

 

 

Advertisements

9 thoughts on “Blended Respect

  1. Pingback: They Say The People Could Fly : African American Folktales | Writing Prompts &Thoughts & Ideas…Oh My!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s