The Mother I Never Met

by Princess

Grief is the taste on my tongue when

Africa reaches her hand out to me

And I have nothing to say to her

 

I do not speak the same language as my mother /

She speaks / & I cannot speak back /

I did not inherit the silk / the gold / the fat-of that continent /

 

I never met one of her sisters or experienced

the softness of their opens hands / under the gaze of Europe

I am a daughter with no motherland /

 

For people who can’t leave their skin

Or hair behind when asked about origins we cry

 

I was persuaded out of my own skin /

my own language / my own mind

 

Did anyone tell you that pain is a mouth? /

How it eats you

 

I am full on all things visceral /

The richest place on earth is my mother’s house /

Except for her own people /

 

Africa hands her guests

Petals yet she is greeted with pistols /

 

And I have nothing to her

Because she speaks & I cannot speak back /

I did not inherit the silk / the gold / the fat-of that continent.

Princess

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