Melting Potted-ness

Sometimes I feel the melting-potted-ness
Has come to singularity in me,
That all my DNA seeks fratricide against itself.
My Ipswitch tribal priestess core
Judges harsh against my Scotch,
And the Dutch can't tolerate the Jewish Portuguese.
And then there is the Cherokee,
The Irish and the English.
Cover all that with Texan
And see how well you fare.

I find no roots to cling to.
No tradition, nor heritage
Can hold me in awe of its stately ways
Or lies that I can't bare.

And so I find that only love
Fills my inhibitions.
And so I pledge myself to it,
And that my only swear.

And if someday we understand
The further back beginnings,
And see for ourselves—

There is no birthright anymore.
The earth and the asteroid belt
Inherited the gold, and the meek,
And that's all gone,
And there is nothing else there.

Then maybe we won't judge ourselves,
Or our hapless brothers,
And maybe we can learn to exist,

And love each other here.

-jenn long