but i didn’t go to stay
i stand on my father’s ground
not breaking.
it holds me up
like a hand my father pushes.
virginia.
i am in virginia,
the magic word
rocked in my father’s box
like heaven,
the magic line in my hand. but
where is the afrika in this?
except, the grass is green,
is greener he would say.
and the sky opens a better blue
and in the historical museum
where the slaves
are still hidden away like knives
i find a paper with a name i know.
his name.
their name.
sayles.
the name he loved.
i stand on my father’s ground
not breaking.
there is an afrikan in this
and whose ever name it has been,
the blood is mine.
my soul got happy
and i stayed all day.
