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I recently started putting together a blog about the funny and fun fundamentals of growing up in a black household. I reference a few intricate details that sum up so many things we all relate to, as black people, in our upbringing. But one thing I feel the need to reference over and over again, is Joe Solomon's This mystical bond between a black mother and everyone else's children she does not know, poem. It is gorgeous.
I love this poem because beyond "South Chicago from Mississippi," the "old family recipe" is unwritten, from the motherland. It is a way of life both far and near its originating place. It is in the bloodline of all, if not most melanin coated beings. Whether African-American, or African native, no matter where you go, as a black person, every black mother is your mother and every black young man, is your brother. The bloodline lives on in our being.
From Cape to Cairo, Mombasa to Abuja, Mississippi to South Chicago, the bloodline lives on in our skin.
PS. The blog post will be up by the end of the week:
My grandmother (middle) and some of her granddaughters at a wedding. CIRCA 2017
Can you tell which one is me?