← Back Published on

My 4th Great Grandfather Owned A Farm In Virginia

Daddy grand, used his shovel
and his hands. His hands and 
his shovel on the earth.

Worked day and night, night
and day

to make a better way for future
generations. Generations of misplaced
Virginians, misplaced Africans, 
misplaced southerners. 

My great, great, great, great grandfather
Plumb Sims was him. Was him who acquired
the land, who was somehow a free man
in the 1700s.

Orange, Virginia is where he was.
Is where he loved. Loved the land.
And, the land loved him back

'cause he was Black. Black like the
soil he divided, seeded, planted in.

This is one of the places our
story begins, where the pathway
to a people can be experienced

can be, will be, has to be referenced.

Grandpa Sims. Governor of ground
where animals were raised, grazed,
guided 

this is

how he provided for his own. His
succeeding son returns 
to his people's original home

farming for words to write, digging for
rhymes bright, hoeing lyrics to recite
about his lineage. This is I dedicating

language, documenting diction, crafting
nonfiction with precision 'cause Grandpa
envisioned a world

where some day his after-children 
would be alright, would be alright,

would be alright.