Something in the blood calls my name.
The call brings neither glory nor shame.
We are connected but not the same.
Blood calls across all boundaries
from oceans crossed; and, all centuries
lost before I came to be by name.
Family traits, fair and foul, remain.
There is a knowing-ness difficult to explain.
Friendships are just as dear but not the same.
Something in the blood calls my name.
annarino writes 