Cold winds drift and split
My cold ears into echoes of my ancestors
Long gone
Screaming like hordes of beasts unknown
"Arise, root yourself like the cassava root
In your inherent greatness
and make it your own"
So I oil my dark skin
And comb my tough hairs
Then I smile--
Broad and proud as a peacock
Caught up in the daze and the whirl
Of all the wonder a black boy--
can be.
Should be.
Is.
YOU ARE READING
The Words I Never Say
PoetryA collection of poems and musings that occupy my mind each day. This is a worded canvas on which I paint the moments and seasons of my everyday simple life
