skin on skin (2020-2021)

 

I journey back to the night my mother was born. I watch her mother fill those newborn hands with a bag of curses passed down from her mother and her mother's mother. It's her birthright. It's mandatory. I walk with her to school as that bag of curses weighs on her eyes and forces her to slouch. Am I looking in a mirror? I journey back to the night my father was born. I watch his father shove curses into his newborn ears passed down from his father and his father's father. It's his birthright. It's mandatory. I watch him stuff his face with the pleasures of the earth. He doesn't get full. He doesn't stop to catch his breath. I'm looking in a mirror. I watch as he expands past his abilities yet refuses to burst at the seams. Flexible enough to indulge, but not to entertain.

 

I journey back to the night I was born. I watch my mother filled my newborn hands with a bag of curses passed down from her mother and her mother's mother. I watch my father shove curses into my ears passes down from his father and his father's father. It's not mandatory, but it's my birthright. I walk through my life, refusing to slouch. Those curses weigh heavy on my eyes; I wipe them. I refuse to overindulge. I'm flexible enough to entertain. I journey to the birth of my children. I guide myself as I fill my newborn's hands with blessings. I make sure I bathe them in blessings. It's mandatory. It's their birthright. I suffocate them with love so they can't breathe in those curses.

I journey to the night of my grandchild's birth. I watch my child bathe my grandbaby in blessings. Skin on skin.