
“Gramps was a free spirit”
The choice
of sires
is not ours
to make,
never
could have been,
anyhow…
our being
in space
and time
could never be
one of choice,
our being
in space
and time
is one of
sheer
destiny
to whose
truck
we are
tied…
love
beyond
black and
white and
yellow and
brown and
red…
a critter
studiously
attuned
to its own
sacred course,
a critter
on prowl
uncoaxed,
a critter
that knows
no bounds
and thus
attuned
to none…
a wop,
a bum,
a schmuck;
it makes not
a whit
of care;
the gradual
and deliberate
and insistent
flow of
the good,
the bad
and middling;
a diamond
in the rough
to be worked
and revealed
in the nick
of time…
wayfarers
we all
are,
fluttering
and
ferrying
and
flying
without cease
till
there is
nowhere else
to go,
and then
we sleep
the sound
and silent
sleep
of saints,
leaving
in our trail
and to our
scions
the giant wings
of memory
to ferry
forth…
what we are
is often
what we claim
to be,
what we do
is largely
dictated by
what means
of existence
we possess
and where
we find
ourselves
in space
and
time…
7/24/09
By Kwame Okoampa-Ahoofe, Jr.


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