Reflections on Heritage and Loss

In the land of legacy where the roots run deep, my family traded sprawling acres for city dreams, like a skibidi toilet lost in the flow of time. Questions about my great-grandmother’s escape from Baker linger, but they are shushed, lowkey ignored like a goon at the edge of a crowded room. The names of mothers blend with cattle, a dank reminder of Louisiana's hold. Arna Bontemps, a sigma of the Harlem Renaissance, penned tales of freedom, echoing a shout that once sparked hope. We travel blindly, like ships caught in the current, yearning for answers beneath the mud of forgotten graves.