you only know half your history when you're half white

this one is for my great

great

great

grandmother.

whose Jewish nose

trickled its way

down to my face.

she who left her parents’ home

to build her own

4,000 miles away

she, who left once more

that new house, turned prison,

confused for a home.

this one is for my other great

great

great

grandmother.

though i thank you

for painting my skin

this light brown hue,

i wish i knew

if you were from this island

or brought by a ship.

if Arawak ruled your tongue,

or if an African sun

gave birth to your bones.

i wish someone knew

if your hands were like my mother’s,

umber and warm.