I Am From

I am from a great grandmother who died in a pool of blood 
blood
With breast milk
That never let down
A woman 
Who died face down
For the laws of man
Named god

I am from a Dutch man
Who recorded the births and deaths of his sons and daughters 
Letters and numbers 
Of joy and sorrow
Hearts of gold and dust
Saving slaves 


A Grandfather who played violins
Stuffing money in coffee cans
So the past would never relive itself 

                              I’m left to ask…
How could it not?


I’m from a stoic Finnish
Stubborn man who danced 
A fine polka 
Stomping his feet 
Pressing the keys
To his accordion 
a fan - to smoke
Swirling in oxygen 
For his hung son
he uttered no words


I am from a woman 


who held the hands 
Of a mother whose baby 
Was shot
And thrown in the ditch
Her broken whisper
Echoing 
“it will be okay”


I gather the spirits 
Of my ancestors 
And walk on
With my vision 
Of life and passion
Like a boulder in my heart
Passed down epigenetically 
Burning my cells
                             As I 
                                 Claw

                                      through 
                                          The darkness and roots

of My family tree
I set fire to the branches
For eternity 
Needs heat to record
Itself