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Week 4 “I come from a long line of.... “

Updated: May 9, 2020

Poems written by Untold Stories poets in response to the prompt “I come from a long line of “ echoing Lucille Clifton’s poem “for deLawd”.

~lineages of love~

-Teiana McGahey

I come from a long line of womxn

whose eyes hold the stories and wisdom of our people

whose hair holds the strength and softness of the land

whose tears release and heal

whose laughs bring joy to untouched spaces

whose voices bring comfort and ease

whose hands hold the gentleness and warmth of the sun

whose wombs carry the magic of the moon

whose veins carry the wonders of the world

whose freedom sets me freer

I come from a long line of womxn

who pray for us

who hold and carry us

who love us

who are alive in us

we come from the land

the lakes and rivers where the

sun hits just right

the mountains and hills where

soil is warm and strong

skies that hold sunsets and sunrises

clouds and stars that hold beauty and histories

deeper and richer than we can imagine

the lands

that birthed us

the lands that hold us

call me home

call me back to myself


Metzi Daughters

-Erika Murcia

Mamita was the first i met

she taught me gratitude

for the bond we shared with


her medicine our guidance

intuition's Light

Mama was the second

i learned from

so many times she felt

protected by Mama Luna

in the darkest moments of the war

i am third generation in this line

is my responsibility to past this knowledge on

my niece Maya is fourth

We are devoted humble daughters

We are Metzi daughters



-Julie Quiroz

my people are survivors

who never spoke

passed lifetimes

in shallow breath

barely asking for air


seven hundred islands

-nuola akinde

I come from a long line of aching


stained glass words

shattered and swallowed

heartache that strips you bare

Mouth open wide

As the full-figured moon

These long fingers

They are from mare-riders

pill poppers birth-workers soil sifters joy seekers

women whose dreams were

too big

for their time

We tried to show them to the men we loved

And they kept them

In sweaty palms. Let them spill out through the creases of their tightly closed fists

we tucked our pain into our ovaries

gave a small dose to each little ovum

hoping to spread it out over generations

Collective amnesia

i come from a long line of

babies who nurse until your breasts bleed

and who cry



Great Goddesses

who will only be appeased by the humbling of a man

who cradles infant in warm brown hands

takes the hairy knuckles that might have shattered jaws

Or dreams, or dignity

and instead


a baby's crooning lips

cooing along with Sun Ra

Another day I will tell the story of our resilience

another day, we will celebrate

the ways from no way

The light hearts on the scales of Ma’at

the chapped lips coated in honey by Osun

but tonight I will tell you that she died several times over

and planted one small suffering in the egg who became my mother

who planted one small suffering in the egg who became me

who planted one small suffering in the eggs who became my daughters


My mother taught me

There is an ache

For every island


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