Ancestry

 1

My name, pattern of nucleic

acids, and documentation become

a dried leaf glued to

a petrified tree in a fractal forest.

2

The earlier the photograph,

the harder the faces, the darker

the clothes. Work, grief, God,

and fear sculpted these faces. 

3

One cannot behold the soupy

sea of ancestry and still cling

to racism and sad notions

of superiority. A trillion 

accidents set against social

calamity--not "bloodlines"--

birthed each of us. Every one

of us wailed when air first

thumped us in the lungs.

4

Everybody's common. The 

rest is a confidence game.

5

A distant relation died 

attacking a castle. He's buried

in digitized public records.

Genealogists visit his grave.

It's nothing personal. 

6

I have to override the program,

which tells me a relation was 

too young to be a mother. That's 

rape for you. 

7

Genealogy's a pageant of 

folly, a carnival of silence, an

absurdity of great meaning, 

a permanent promise of connection.

8

Sooner or later, our names

become unintended jokes.

9

People travel and travel and

travel. Meanwhile, clever ones

convince them that dreams of

belonging to a special group

are real. Nation, tribe, empire--

that sort of thing. 

10

Humanity is composed 

of women and certain

hangers on. 

11

We're all cousins.

12

On average, each extended

family includes one genealogist 

who insists on boring everyone

with dates, places, and photos. 

In my family, I am he.