Ambience (Poetry Book 2)

My Ancestors

May 29th - June 1st, 2020

My Ancestors?

I do not know them, but I'm learning.

That's the end and beginning of my story.

The first time I cared about my ancestors

            Was when I recognized the color of my skin in America.

I had always known the name of my motherland-

The Blessing-

but never cared- never saw the need- to know more.

So, I treated the name of "African" as something more than a label

It was a beautiful, exotic, part of my identity.

Mama did my hair one day over the weekend because kinky hair can't sit well natural past a week without some love.

So, I stared in the mirror as she finished straightening out the temp style-

Can't recall why no braids were done that time-

And I wanted my left-sweep fringe so badly, 'cause I liked the open~

loose~

hair style that framed the face and swayed~

moved~

Mama snapped!

At.

Me.

"We simzungu!"

You're not White!

"You don't have their hair!"

Or something close to that.

I've never hated my hair more then.

The second time I cared about my ancestors

            Was when I wanted to regain my language as a teen

I had once known the words of the trade tongue-

Connecting the Swahili Coast to the Capitol and heart of Africa-

but I never wanted- saw the need- to learn it in a land of English-trade.

So, I took my time, learning more in the while of my inherited legacy of war, race, strife, and caste.

Because even I, a child of Mother Africa, can be called "White" by my fellow fairs.

Grandmother washed me once when I was a little girl

The weather was good, and the earth was rich in its familiar highland greens

A basin of water was filled between the main house and the traditional kitchen house where I basked and played in the warmth of the sun.

The same place my father played before me

And perhaps my grandmother

And my great-grandmother.

This is the land of my paternal ancestry.

Nandi.

I never knew anything beyond the fresh, natural, warmth of the cow's milk,

            the scent of the earth after the rains,

the filiality to elders and merriness with peers.

I needed nothing more.

The third time I cared about my ancestors

            Is now.

I am growing old and seeing my parents getting older

I realize that I know nothing about my custom-

            My culture -

That I need- and am ready- and want to know the soul of my ancestors

And me.

So I learn of the black struggle and internalized racism

I train to look past skin and shallow eyes to the broken hearts I'd sit by

And after weeks of not writing a thing

            The year 2020 moves pen with red ink in history.

That's the beginning and end of my story.

My Ancestors?

I do not know them, but I'm learning.

A/N:

Donald Trump running for President for a 2nd term/ USA Primary Elections

Black Lives Matter Global Movement/Protest (with Group Anonymous' support)

Masters 2nd term- Summer

Hard times. Times of Change.

Edited: July 26th, 2020