by A.M. Davis
The ancient pain of my ancestors
came to me
in a dream.
He was disguised
as a three-year-old child
looking up at me
wanting to be held
but since I have been wary
of this particular pain
for so long
I would not let him rest
his child’s head on my shoulder
because he has left me
tired and tender
after handing me
his jagged-edged anguish
so many times before
so I let him pull on my leg
and look up at me
as I remained unmoved.
Once before
he came to me
disguised as a lover
when I was uninitiated
in his ways.
After he
wrapped himself
into every corner of my mind
he showed me
what he was made of:
Unsolved pain
gathered from slave ships
and sugar plantations
and from death marches
to reservations.
He held in his belly
a heavy loneliness
a longing
that voyaged across oceans
to build bridges and railroads
across river and prairie.
He carried
the cold and hard replacement
for every warm drop of blood
ever spilled onto a battleground
since time immemorial.
He was
that bottomless famine
that every human heart
that had ever been brutalized
and left to die alone created
as he was the remnant
that his heart left behind
after it tumbled
into the void.
This pain came to me
tugging at my leg
while holding
his dark night of the soul
behind that baby’s face.
You, he said,
are the one
I have been waiting for
wanting you
to finally see me.
Ann Marie Davis, whose pen name is A.M. Davis, was born and raised in Oakland, California. She is storyteller/poet, a speaker on behalf of the Earth. In 2007, she walked away from her job to devote her life to her creativity. Upon attending a silent meditation retreat, she found space of time in her racing mind, and discovered that she was not her thoughts. This led to daily meditation, retreats, and becoming part of the East Bay Meditation Center community. She recently discovered the Joanna Macy’s work, and the trajectory of her life finally made sense. You can find more of her work at annmariedavis.com.
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