A New Myth: Untethering My Name from White Folks’ Imaginations
“Names bind us to people, places, and histories. As the descendant of enslaved people, my name only goes so far.”
De la terre, Victoria ou Victoria De La Terre
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Something unexpected cracks me open every year: Tonight, it was my daughter, recognizing the name I’d given her because I couldn’t give her the woman herself.
We’d denounce the marches and torches and chants. When that moment passed, we’d continue to live with the ghosts of our country’s peculiar legacy.
If my grandfather could remain optimistic into his eighties, then how could I let myself become jaded in my twenties?