Mixed Blood

Sun ripples over Easter’s hair

long after

her great great grandmother’s footsteps

are plucked

from Africa’s mangroves

and stuck

like a pair of wild oysters

near the Oconaluftee River.

No use brushing maize off stolen finger tips.

Color sticks like the sound of grand father flutes in grand mother ears,

steam rises

above swamp milk weed and Yellow Lady’s Slippers

around an old nest in a Sweet gum tree

where mourning doves coo to one another,

lay eggs.

Outside her homestead

bare toes tap mixed blood jigs.

After da is done trading furs

he will come home

4 comments

    • Thank u so much John… the picture is not mine… but… one of my grandfathers talked about being Cherokee.. but no one took him seriously … recently I did DNA testing on several sites and turns out Granpas stories weren’t just stories .. a lot more Native American ancestory showed up than I expected … looks like grandpa was at least half… so I have been praying and thinking a lot about what this means … why was this practically hidden and not rejoiced over etc etc…finding out on his side … I am mixed… thanks for reblog 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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