I have the privilege
Of forgetting my heritage
Because seventy years ago my grandfather rejected his home country
For mine
And a people so focused on not being a minority
That I am no longer considered one
I can move into privileged neighborhoods
Because sixty years ago my grandparents tore a few pages out of their books
I will be hired because fifty years ago my father was born
A parchment colored page
And forty years ago my grandfather refused to teach his son his native language to his son
So he could be privileged enough to forget his heritage
And thirty years later meet a white women
Twenty years, marry her
Seventeen a son
Fifteen a daughter
the color of a blank page
But I will not tear out my pages
Nor will I let them stay empty
I may have risen above my grandfather's homeland
But I will be sure never to forget it
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:08 PM UTC
I have the privilege
Of forgetting my heritage
Because seventy years ago my grandfather rejected his home country
For mine
And a people so focused on not being a minority
That I am no longer considered one
I can move into privileged neighborhoods
Because sixty years ago my grandparents tore a few pages out of their books
I will be hired because fifty years ago my father was born
A parchment colored page
And forty years ago my grandfather refused to teach his son his native language to his son
So he could be privileged enough to forget his heritage
And thirty years later meet a white women
Twenty years, marry her
Seventeen a son
Fifteen a daughter
the color of a blank page
But I will not tear out my pages
Nor will I let them stay empty
I may have risen above my grandfather's homeland
But I will be sure never to forget it