08/31/2023
As summer draws to a close, we thank everyone who attended one of our spring events, or simply visited the cemetery when you wanted to be in a quiet, peaceful space. Your remembrance of those buried here, and support for their legacy, is very important to the community we share.
Here is the beautiful poem “I Come From” written by Kayla Turner of the Pennington School, which she recited at the 2023 Memorial Day service at the Pennington African Cemetery.
I Come From
By: Kayla Turner
The Pennington School 6th Grade
I come from a Jamaican dad.
Whose remedies mend “everything,”
And recipes that have my tastebuds leaping with joy.
Brown-stew chicken,
Savory and spicy.
The variety of flavors caused me to wander back
for more,
As I attempt to pick
Tangy specs of ginger out of my,
Small baby teeth.
I come from Detangler Combs
and boar bristle brushes.
Long nights of braiding,
And multi-colored bonnets.
Never able to do the same things with my hair,
Like other people.
I come from using extra bananas,
To make banana bread,
Whose aroma fills the air as it rises
to a perfectly golden loaf.
The sweetness of the ripe bananas combined
with savory spices
Create a flavor eruption in every bite.
I come from a field with overgrown grass,
That brushes my ankles with each step I take.
From falling into the dirt
And reaching back up.
One girl provided support,
My sister, Brianna.
I come from long truck rides,
With my family of five.
Smushed into the backseat, tight,
Like a glove.
Driving until sundown,
No decided destination.
Just the road in front of us.
I come from flowing ink in my veins.
Writing is in my blood.
The melody of my heart,
Captured on paper,
Every single part.
Writing is a passion that can’t be topped.
I come from long summer days at the beach.
The warm sun beaming on me,
As I walk across the grainy sand,
feeling it shifting in between
each of my chocolate-brown toes.
The sound of waves colliding with jagged rocks,
Creating a perfect environment of relaxation.
I come from fighting to the death,
Next to a large powdered, white wig.
Who happens to be George Washington.
Listening to his commands,
Knowing I could be a man down,
Any second.
I come from a man
who’d been forced to fight a battle,
But was never deemed a hero.
At home,
just being celebrated by family,
A voice
never heard.
I come from a family of survivors,
Who persevere through everything,
Who keep living after being pierced in the heart,
with the sword of life.
That makes me who I am,
Brave, Resilient, and Creative.
