My Branches Sag

my family’s tree is incongruous;

its limbs sag off the side

as if it were a poplar,

the strange fruit of my fathers’

hung

the seeds sown, picked by birds,

and the miseries that uprooted

us from one land to another,

drowned in spirits and oxys

down

we went, while they wasted

in their foregone days

away behind the counter,

fornicating among the daisies

spreading

like weeds in a garden,

their roots spread wide but thin,

as their name is reclaimed

by those more worthy of its acclaim

like

those whose roots hang free for the world to see

by those whose roots were torn from the soil to the sea.