I wrote this several months ago in response to my discomfort with myself. I need a moment of honesty - I thank those who have been honest with me in reading the poem and in many other moments of my life.
The boys leaning against
the wall seem familiar with
the place. Cops swarming "Move off
the corner! No loitering here!"
The memory of my students' stories...
"The I-pod was right there. I could have lifted it off
the white man so easily!" and
the only colors I see are black and white and
the blue of the policemen's uniforms and
the blue men make me mad glad all in one breath because
the fear is rising up past
the hatred of abusive authority and
the racism rises above
the solidarity and
the confusion reigns supreme.
The questions in my head are too many and
the answers keep coming from
the eleven o'clock news and
the education of a little white girl and
the absence of another voice
The manifestations of oppression validate
the ideology of
the dominant group so well I can't see past
the rhetoric and
the lies. I only hear
the voices of my friends and family
the assurance that
the world IS as it seems, as we believe it to be and that
the "we" DOES include everyone
The problem is I know just enough to know there is another story
the story that some would rather not hear
the story I must find so I can understand
the truth in
the lives of
the boys standing against
the wall so familiar with
the place.
