Let me tell you about the ancestors,  

she said to me as I sat and relaxed 

myself into Grandma’s lap. She was  

sharp, and even in her old age 

her memory could search  

into the far reaches of the past.  

I can’t stay up too late, not like I used to.  

And then she proceeded to tell me tales 

of Greats and Great Greats who did some  

great and not-so-great things. Our family 

tree is filled with triumph and struggle.  

The imperfections make it beautiful.  

They’re all just human, you know, just like you.  

She poked her frail finger into the flesh of my pectoral.  

My kin, of the earth—the humus—yet filled with the breath 

of God. Is this not what it means to be adam? 

Never forget who you come from,  

she said before calling it a night. Her words 

implied that this sort of remembrance 

would keep me grounded, but also keep me going.  

Soaring high when they try to keep me down.  

I won’t forget that I am of earth and sky. 

Drew Jackson

Pastor & Poet (Board Member, CAC)