As the cotton floats softly in the sky - by Bryn Ludlow

The cottonwoods are shedding now,

Onto the grounds where my ancestors once stood,

They pulled bolls into barrels and carried them on their backs,

I found out about this a few years ago on an Ancestry DNA test.

The one who helped decide to give me away is the one who shares my Cameroonian DNA.

What a gift it was for My family who accepts me for who I am everyday.

Each year, the trees remind me of my ancestors and their journey,

As the cotton fibres fall lightly,

Landing into my hair, which is coarse and straight, and

curly at the same time.

As the cotton floats softly in the sky,

Like the Martin that swoops as it flies,

I think about how my third great grandfather George didn’t have a choice when he had to leave the USA,

That my grandparents didn’t have a choice when they had to leave South Africa at the height of Apartheid, and

My Norwegian and Irish ancestors had to leave on a whim.

But their plight is not the same as the flight of George and Lucy,

Patricia and John,

Who had to travel secretly after standing on their knees,

Then at the right moment,

They burst free like the cotton in the trees. So here I am now, conflicted about whether to use the flat iron or to go au naturel,

Slathering on sunscreen and reflecting on my history—an adoptee—questioning if my history is my history?

Trying not to worry about the past, while trying to stay present, and trying to dream about

A future that is uncertain—

For everyone.

As I think about that quick phrase that it seems everyone says,

“We’re in this together”— does it mean that some individuals have the right to stand on the backs of others who have struggled for centuries, or are we going to challenge this notion and reconstruct a system of rights that is right?

It’s snowing again in Canada,

Yes, it’s snowing here in June.

It happens every year,

a week after the first spring full moon.

The spinning cotton floats to the ground in a spiral,

Softly floating, around and around, and

As I walk under this curtain of light,

I wonder if the cotton falls from the trees at night?

Polarized by Polaris— The place where they all looked up before taking flight. —

Bryn Ludlow

June 12, 2020