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An In the Whirlwind Poem

Blood Will Tell (My Mother’s Song)

while my older cousins were upstairs
doing the hustle and other disco dances
i was downstairs ingesting
with all the delight my seven yr old self
could manage
the nice history of africa.

then my mother and i moved
and the song got packed away
lying dormant in the quiet storm of my blood
while i gravitated towards michael jackson
and the music flowing at neighborhood block parties.
i joined one nation getting down
just for
the funk of it
and learned how to dance under water
without getting wet
from swim instructors/block mothers.

but my blood knew it wasn’t a done deal
knew i would find my way back to
the nice history of africa

and i did

some twenty years later
when i took one of my bi-annual trips
back east
and raided my mother’s closet
for my history.

there it was
my mother’s song
carried all the way
from london
more than twenty years ago
still in pristine condition.

i stowed it carefully away
in my suitcase
and when I arrived back in cali
quietly deposited it
between prince albums
and 12 inch versions
of rapper’s delight
and i feel for you.

never listening

only reading
about the nice history
of afrika

until my jekyll and hyde man
of the time
knew i was serious
this time
when i told him
i was leaving him
and stole my record player.

i said that’s it
no more music for me
and donated all my records
to a community store
too distraught to realize
i was giving away
my mother’s song
the nice history of afrika

and when i realized
it was too late
and i was never able to find
the song again

until one day
i did a blood-driven internet search
for the title
and there it was.

nice history of africa

and my blood settled
coming full circle
with all the delight
a thirty-seven year old
could manage.