Munga Ma Sångan Na Kaduka Yu’.

Munga ma sångan na kaduka yu’.

You are not inheriting what I am.  You are not giving your child what I might give mine.

Munga ma sångan na kaduka yu’.

You are not from a generation who hid in caves, afraid of Japanese bayonets, singing for “Uncle Sam,” or leaving high school for Vietnam.  You have not inherited soil made toxic with patriotism;  

you have not inherited a dream perverted by content.

Munga ma sångan na kaduka yu’.

You were born into the calm home of newly made Americans; you played under watchful eyes that never saw childhood.  You created a child who’s entire life was spent in infancy, 

a child who now holds an infant,  a child made schizophrenic by age old whispers.

Munga ma sångan na kaduka yu’.

You came into womanhood at the end of a war; and peace wove itself through your thick hair.  You ate buñelos in an outside kitchen and sat at the foot of your nåna’s mestisa.

Munga ma sångan na kaduka yu’.  

You are not inheriting the remnants of gifts collected piecemeal.  Your tongue is not weighed down by heroes;  your language is not a secret waiting to be decoded; 

you have never had to BEG your mother to give you what she had, what cannot be bought at the Navy Exchange.

Munga ma sångan na kaduka yu’.

You are not watching your father limp with gout, high blood, and diabetes, happily popping open cans of unidentified protein from the newly renovated commissary, right after a round of golf, thinking he is “liberated”...and his parents' dreams realized.  

You grew thinking the worst was over and the best was yet to come. 

Munga ma sångan na kaduka yu’.

I am inheriting the battle you seemed to be resting for, listening to your mother warn me to brace for a bigger wave, a wave she does not think you are strong enough to swim through.  

She will not be here to see it rise above our reef; she is telling me to tread water after you’ve told me to float.

Munga ma sångan na kaduka yu’.

Your mother did not tell you it was simply her “way.”  Your mother’s way was painfully earned.  Your way was mindlessly mimicked. 

Your way cannot be my way.  Your way will erase me. 

Your way will erase my child.  

Your way will erase our home.  

Your way will erase us.

Munga ma sångan na kaduka yu’.

I must take my way, grab it, even when you hold tight , slap it from your grip, stinging you,

forcing you to hand it over... before all that your mother saved is stolen.

Munga ma sångan na kaduka yu’.