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
