To The Phrenologists That I Share Blood With by Amanda Montero

In 1950, my grandmother, Anne Mather, who was an heiress of the steel industry and descended from the puritan Mathers, married my grandfather, Frank Montero, who was a Black, social worker from Brooklyn whose ancestors were slaves in Virginia. This has provided the foundation for my mixed-race identity, and I have struggled through balancing acts of having blood from the American bourgeoisie and colonists while also being the descendant of slaves, and how that duality plays out for me. I've included the NYT marriage notice about their wedding.

I have written many poems on being mixed race, but I think this one is empowering. I think it raises questions about the "purity" of race, which our country has a long and sordid history with. And I think it speaks to the difficulty multi racial people often have parsing their identities. For me, it was also about parsing through what my family thought of my identity.

---

To the phrenologists that I share blood with:

If only you could see…

−How much sun it takes for my skin to crisp –

− How quickly my body can heal itself −

❖right in front of the doctor’s eyes❖

−How soft and inviting my curves are, how they comfort and soothe friends and lovers,

how my people can sink into my chest and rest –

−The flecks of gold in my eyes, reminding everyone of how valuable –

−I am –

−How I can see beauty in differences –

−How I don’t follow anyone but myself –

-Because they were owned by you for too long-

−How I can speak loud and challenge anything and everything –

−How I can survive and sustain trauma—

− How much I can love…—

- I wish that you could see all these things and know that you did not give them to me…

− They did −