POEMS
Derrick Harriell
My Family Tree (Don't grow)
I am,
That's all I know, My family ree don't grow
It's been the same since 1875
Half grown, half alive
A plave for a withered reality
A withered history,
There's no welcome mat at its bottom,
or enough leaves to paint the streets red in autumn
Someone sawed the top, tortured a culture
Cut my bloodline in half, hung customs
Watched them swing from the night of nothingness
Closed evil eyelids, hid souls in asphalt soil
Placed their ears to remorse for a discoursed destiny
THe rest of me remains to be see, tranquility
remains to be gained
I imagine a Diasporic witch doctor
She wears sweat and Senegal
Sings lullabies in French to my great grandfather
while he sleeps on a psalm
Says find God,
Claims their consis with different last names
He finfd a Choctaw rain dancer
Dares her to breathe
She inhales everything that's beautiful
Exhales my grandfather
Mispronounces his name
His-story becomes mistaken
Memories melted on the mantle of time
Ask my about my great-great grandfather
I'll tell you he is,
As I am,
That's all I know,
My family tree don't grow
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