I finally give in
and buy two
ancestry testing kits.
One for my mother,
one for me.
When I get my results I find
I am still mostly white.
Less Native than i was told.
A little Iberian, Jewish, Asian,
and African.
I call my grandmother.
I want to tell her to burn a cross
in her own yard
or throw away her racism.
I choke up when she answers.
Consumed by excuses of my own
to love someone
who doesn’t know
she hates the wombs
she’s spiraled trough.
When I remember why I called,
I feel an unraveling in my throat.
All those umbilical chords being cut.
I remember calling her a mutt
when I was 8.
She had yelled racist slurs
at an unexpecting man
in the “Rural King,” store.
She told me to think 
about how I was speaking
to my elders.
I return her advice now.
I am matched with my DNA relatives.
The website reminds me
my mom
is half me.
She was scared
of the government having
her DNA.
I laugh at
my fucked up family
and know in some ways,
we are still
too similar.