Good Ancestor

 

GOOD ANCESTOR

These lips are theirs,

They tell me live. This strong black nose, 

Powerful, massive.

This angled jaw,

Cuts like knife. 

If no you, 

For me no life. 

I wish I could, 

Just see your face. 

Offer thanks 

For this their race. 


I wonder what their word would be, 

Could their eyes today see me?

To aft or bow would they go?

And perish in that sea below? 


Or would their seed be cause enough, 

for peace in a Jesus from Lübek? 

The carrion call of treacherous ocean

Or future cries of offsprings’ devotion? 



These the broken ones, 

Baptized in blood, 

Are good ancestors

Watching above.


by: Planted Black Prose

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