Each day I peeled a little brown from the potato-
My sensuous roots gone along with my
uniqueness, and my body that moved to
rhythms across the shore.
Straight-haired dialect fumbled
from my lips, tripping over teeth
like a ballerina’s grace to the sudden
beat of a drum.
My Home Ec. teacher told me not a
speck of brown can show
before it is mashed, before it is eaten.
Others nodded subtly-subtle like a
teaspoon of arsenic in a bowl of good soup.
I listened because nobody told me it was okay
to add a honey, girl, humph, and
ain’t that someth’ chile.
Words were ripped
from the ends of my sentences like
babies taken from the bosoms’ of slaves.
Nobody told me it was okay to sway
and swagger my hips to bass.
Nobody told me to hang on to this
because it was good for my soul.
It was… my soul.
Nobody told me I could embrace
their culture without
letting go of my own.
Nobody told me.
Nobody told me.
Nobody…told me.
By Shawn R. Jones
website: www.shawnrjones.com
Author of the devotional book, Pictures in Glass Frames http://t.co/BxiNwWRG
and the poetry chapbook, Womb Rain,
Striking poem/entry, Shawn. You hooked me with the first line. So evocative!
Thank you : ) Glad I did not delete the first line lol I thought of it.
Your poetry spoke to my inner being, awakening something deeply tucked within, that needs to be set free… I loved it
Lynda, I am so happy you stopped by and left this comment. It means so much! Blessings to you!