who told you that you were not responsible for your history?
doesn’t the blood of your ancestors still boil inside your body? can we
not respect the fact that our grandmother’s bones are still
cradling your mother’s infant tears?
we all came from someone.
i can tell you i know that my grandfather was a soldier in WW2.
hear that? the call of my grandfather’s blood is obedience.
the voice of the blood in my veins calls me “soldier. racist.
conqueror.”
i can tell you i know that my ancestors were the villains of Time
(an ambling mystery of sweat and stars)
hungry for indians at the end of a pistol. smiling at the sight of
chopping at tongues (deemed savage) and shoving our
languages down their throats as if feeding a child that was already
full.
i still feel the cradle of my grandmother’s bones.
it’s not much of an apology. if every marshmallow human (like
me) apologized for our ancestors, it still wouldn’t change.
who told you that you were not responsible for your history?