Tree By Leaf

I groan inwardly, sliding
a pen, folders, journal into
my over-full knapsack.

Eighteen years of schooling
had me lulled into a false
sense of security, into a

belief that never again
would I have to dig deep
into the melting pot of my

past, search for roots long
ago withered, delve into
a tabula rusa of history.

Yet here I am, again at the
cross-roads of trodden paths.
Raised in a family of mixed

race where the tie that bound us
was adoption rather than ancestry.
More than a decade of ‘Family Tree’

projects and ‘Who Am I’ essays piled
up, played a part in prodding me to
search for background and bloodlines.

I discovered that all my detective
work couldn’t create a heritage,
produce traditions, provide roots.

Leaving me more lost than found,
I lay it all to rest in hopes that the
wind won’t assault my branches

harshly enough to rip up the newly
formed fragile tendrils planted in what
little soil I have staked as my own.

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