Genetics of a revolution

I inherited the curls of my hair
from my mother.
But her turquoise eyes were another
from her mother’s black.
I also inherited the struggle
from my mother.
The same struggle
that my grandmother handed down.
I raised my daughter to look down
To think twice, to stay cautious.
Regressive, you say? Recessive, I think.
Today
I borrowed a bandana
from my daughter
to keep my hair from blocking
my eyes.

I inherited the revolution, I inherited the fight
I want it to end with me.