for my grandmother (w.i.p)

to ms. b

this is for my grandmother,
who, as a little mixedgrrl, would
throw bricks
at the other children who
would make fun of her
chiney eyes
and coolie hair.

this is for my grandmother
whose white mother
had a colonizer's tongue and
sexual appetite, and
had to taste every
continent.

this is for my grandmother
whose own siblings
spat at her, the possibility
of her having any black blood
so unappealing to them
that they shunned and
disowned her.

this is for my grandmother
a strong jamaican woman,
who buried her first two children, and
made sure that all 6 of her remaining sons
were born black.

this is for my grandmother,
who my mother swears i resemble.
she says it is in the hunched, broad shoulders, the
wideness of my foot,
the heavy hands that often find themselves
cradling the lower part of my back.
it is in my taste for spicy foods and chilled beer,
in the shape of my mouth, and the
protective look in my eyes.

this is for my grandmother,
whose firm hands caught me
the moment i plopped out of my mother's womb,
who looked down on me, a newborn,
smiled and said, "mine."