I am from Kings

I am from kings.

From marble and bloody diamonds,

I am from palace grounds.

(Brilliant, radiant, an apex of civilization.

Now broken, conquered, long subjugated).

I am from the Ube tree

purple plum grass brushing the ankle.

A legacy long stripped away.

I’m from gold and ancient treasures

from poverty and raided tombs

I’m from a village raising the child (or two or three)

from mouths of honey and hearts of daggers.

I’m from hymns of salvation under the hot sun

and big hats in big baptist churches

I’m from the kingdom of Songhai and Georgian plantations,

Injera and prickly cotton.

From Toby bound by the shackles of oppression

To great Auntie Willie Bee with her sunglasses and manicures

Under my bed, in my closet, there are no photographs

Nothing to chronicle my family’s journey

from kings to slaves

to royalty again

I am from a legacy that can never be taken away

It lives on in my dashikis, my mud cloth, my ivory

My history lives on in my words, ephemeral they may be.