Who Told You?


Who told you you were “white,”

that disdain for shadows,

color of the fear of falling ?

You are not white, you are oak,
apple wood and dandelion.

Make a barrel of your bones.

Make wine of yourself.

Acquire the flavor of your ancestors.

 

Who told you you were “black,”

that abstraction of laughter and tears?

You are more than black.

Seeds of the sun are sown 

in your cheek furrows.

You are banyan and mahogany,

kola nut and cocoa bean,

kinnikinnik of the sacred pipe.

You are the olive night.

 

Voracious love has dipped us both

in honey, meshed our chromosomes

in darkest cilia, netted our dendrites

like mushrooms in sweet loam,

the wild manure of one dragon.

 

Dust in a wrinkled rainbow,

whorled pallet of earth tones, 

ginger, sorrel, burnt sienna...

We're one human juice 

pulsing through a pungent root

toward starlight.

 

 

West African Earth Goddess Ala, image 

shared on Pinterest, artist unknown.

No comments: