ancestry
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One day we will visit Ireland, the land of my ancestors
where they carve little figures of pigs out of a thing
called connamara marble
And where I climbed when I was eight, the castle ruins
Vagabond,
humming- bird hearted
fluttering
to and fro
sipping the sweetness
( often the bitterness)
of this thing called
life.
Migratory
Migrant
like a Monarch
wafting with
Childless, the lineage ends
with me-
poet,
my only legacy-
mere
words.
And the older I've become
the more my ancestry-
the tracing of my roots
holds a fascination
My blood is a map that i cannot read.
My skin a story in languages that overlap.
My hair a crown to civilizations lost.
A sad thing it is not to know where you come from.
I’m from sunlight shining,
Birds singing in early afternoon.
The fortress beneath sheltering pine trees,
Narrow paths I’ve walked a thousand times.
As I look in the mirror and smile at my face
I can't help but wonder where I got these traits
Who was the one to give me my skin?
Who gave me the nose that breathes in?
What was your name?
