Illegitimi non carborundum

“Well…your ancestors wrote it.”
he an old Southern gentleman
who left the South because he preferred
the feeling of a man’s skin against his own,
my father’s favorite uncle
who designed window displays for F.A.O. Schwartz
and ran wild in the New York City streets
with Andy Warhol in the 50’s
his eyes always slightly rounded
with a hint of shame
because his ancestors loved women
his ancestors owned brothels
his ancestors owned slaves
and I know they pretended not to find black women
beautiful
because when the days get long, sometimes
I can still see the amber sky of Toomsooba,
Mississippi
on the backs of my eyelids
because all women
are beautiful
and when I see
the strong lashes, coffeecream complexion,
dark pink scars
running along slender brown fingers
and eyes that dare me to look away
I can’t believe that in those eyes
some men still find ugliness
so I raise my hands
to the Mississippi sky
hearing my grandmother’s fingers
plucking the harp strings of my spine
telling me to love
and love everyone
regardless of the memories that tint skin
or the secrets
that color the spirit,
because Langston Hughes called you
the Pride Of The Town
and I am proud…
proud to see you
proud to know you
proud to love you.