Ancestors
I wrote this poem about healing through our mothers, particularly from the pain of sexism and racialized gender violence.
Take a little dirt from the ground Press your hands in firmness Drizzle some of your mother’s Milk into its cracks Wet the places where it seems Hard and broken Lay the pile of mud Onto your skin Rub the salve Into your shoulders Massage it into your breasts Kneading earth and river Into your arms and legs Dig your toes into the ground Burrow them beneath the dirt Feel the coolness of it settle into you Touch your back to the leaves And soak the dew into your hair Take back your body From the men Who convinced you it could never be yours Plant your forehead To the earth Your mothers lie here In this ground, with their strengths Knotted to the roots of grand oaks Take them, and let them heal you
© Ama Akoto (2018)