The Grass Was Never Greener
They told me
“the grass is greener on the other side”
But what side?
I searched for a green mirage.
In the fields they promised me
In the futures they said were mine.
If I worked hard enough,
If I spoke clearly enough,
If my stance was straight enough,
If my hair was tame enough,
If I made myself small enough,
Then I would maybe fit inside their portrayal of success
But there was no other side.
There was no grass
There was only soil
Soil that remembered.
Soil beneath the trees
Where they hung my people
While the world learned to look away
The same soil that swallowed footsteps
From feet that walked too far
And were still told it wasn’t far enough
Soil remembered the names.
That were forgotten and erased from textbooks
The names my meemaw remembers
Without ever needing a pen and paper
I used to believe,
Grass represented freedom
But what is considered freedom
When the field was never ours
What is “greener”
When they decided what side of the fence
We belonged on?
How can this be called “progression”?
It is only a garden,
Planted in the graves of yesterday
And yet,
Something grew.
Not because the earth was kind
Not because the spring was clement
Not because the sun shone equally on every seed.
Not because the rain fell fairly
Something grew
Because these black hands
Know what it means to grow something
Out of nothing.
In the fields we grew songs.
Where they expected hushness
We grew books
Where they pushed for ignorance
We grew churches
Where they suspected submission
We grew dreams
Where they left only nightmares
We grew taller
Where they wanted us to diminish
We grew
And I’m growing too
A black girl,
Standing in the grass my ancestors were promised
I carry their prayers.
Like seeds beneath my tongue.
Every “Be careful”
Is a seed
Every “Make mama proud”
Is a seed
Every story of perseverance
Is a seed
Every name
Is a seed
The grass was never greener
on the other side
There was only this soil.
This history
This culture
This inheritance that I didn’t ask for
But refuse to ignore
And maybe that was the secret all along.
The grass was never greener within
Because the green was never the point
The point was that something could grow here
That I could grow here
That despite the attempts at burying us
We are not the grave
We are the garden
And those before us
Watered the soil that we stand on
With their sweat and tears
It is our responsibility to become
Beyond their wildest dreams and prayers
To expand our horizons
And grow a grassy field
They never lived to see.