now a days i take my coffee black like my father did sometimes i add sugar, small traces of me still pretending we are not one in the same now a days i paint my nails black like my mother taught me she urged me not to be afraid of the brush "be brave in the way life calls for" now a days i count every line on my palm like my aunt would do told me every one was a little sin, and that when i arrived at the gates of heaven i would raise my hands to god and he would merely watch now a days i wear my hair back like i did when i was a kid i am still setting fire to ant piles and painting my knees brown and blue with pallets from the earth