11 years ago today, I gave birth to the one, the only Sankara Kono. Mothering him is a topsy-turvy journey of joy. When he was 7 months old, I wrote the poem below for/about him.  As evident by the photo, his determination lives! Happy birthday, my love!

Sankara Mantra (7 Months)

Lashes like mine.
Eyes like mine
even in the way
they peruse a room.

Skin like mine
but darker.
A bafflement inside me
every time I hear him
referred to as black.
(how’d you get such a black baby?)

It has happened twice
and so has my response:
(black is beautiful)

Sankara
whose birth filled the holes
consuming my heart

Sankara
who is entranced by his reflection
in the mirror
has begun to stand.

I am in awe of his determination
and the fact that
at barely seventeen pounds
his head is already past my knees.

Sankara
who I brought into an oppressive world
clutches his walker with his pudgy fingers
and walks completely around it.

I watch with a joy that is miraculous.

Sankara
who I brought into an oppressive world
is owed happiness and well-being
and that is a debt I will pay

like Malcolm said
by any means necessary.