Mixed race

Mixed face

Constant rejection, deflections

When I say my heritage

But I see everyone has a mixed taste

Fusion cuisine – ain’t that bitter and sweet

We like to have inclusion on our tongues

It’s easier to eat than make

As long as they care for a fraction, in a moment in time

They’ve done Diversity Inclusion Equity

Things must die before new beliefs are born

Yes, I’m Caribbean. Yes, there’s a story to tell. No, I don’t have to yell.

Just change the narrative.

We use new language, saying it’s inclusion.

We incorporate new nomenclature into the lexicon.

But ain’t that a funny word, nomenclature

Nomenclature

No men clature

No man’s culture

They barely believe us as their own

I guess unlearning and relearning is too much work

I ate curry with my hands last night

Food tastes sweeter off fingertips

Used chopsticks for dumplings the night before

And held my chopsticks from the top to live a long life

I dunk aniseed bread in pepper pot for christmas.

And I’ll eat pasta with a fork if I need a quick meal.

To be mixed isn’t fixed

I’m constantly learning what my ancestors did for me

The roots deep and twisted

This family tree in the amazon

Amidst colonial industrialization

Tall, strong, and why I breathe.

I am the stories I eat.