Southern Belle

I confront
Questions inside
Observations in my spirit.
Face first
Hard on truth
Sweat on sweat
Clenched teeth
Grit like a Southern Belle.
My curls don’t lie
My curves do nothing to suffice
The fury beneath these sidewalks
We stomp on them daily.
Never stopping to know
The blood
The bones
The backs beneath our soil.
Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little
Walking all over my ancestors
My history’s blood
Never quite knowing
Wanting to know.

This is a poem about honoring my southern American-Black ancestors with the understanding that I will never completely understand their pain and victory. I recognize that I reap the benefits of their fight for humanity by simply walking down a city sidewalk without beckoning the hatred people because of the color of my skin.