I, at the verdant age of eleven
Sat in a dusty room filled with children
Learning more than simple arithmetic
And how to read and write in textbook tones
Our desks were lined in neat rows and angles
Forming a box about the teacher's desk
Pressed up to one another they became
Long tables stretching along lines of walls
Our neighbors perched in close proximity
And mine,
mine was a girl named Kelly Green
This name may bring to mind an Irish face
All red on top and freckles raining down
But Kelly's eyes were brown, just like her skin
Her beautiful carefree smile adorning
Her face, characteristically passed down
From her old ancestors' native home
One day, as we were learning what to think
A strange thought occurred to me as I read
About our past of persecution
And in some distant time so long ago
By accident of birth it would have been
That those who looked like me were privileged
In ways that so many others were not
The thought of this was, to me, so foreign
That I was amused by the fact of its
Utterly absurd origination
In a place so close in time to our own
I made the grave mistake of commenting
On this most farcical discovery
To my neighbor, the smiling Kelly Green
I watched as her face drew down in silence
Retreating joy so quick replaced with pain
Her dimming light turned to scowl
At my innocent remark on days past
To me this time of which we were learning
Was so far removed from anything we knew
I couldn't comprehend her consternation
Nor understand how what I said was wrong
The lesson of that day is one that lasts
Though not in ways so readily discerned
I never learned to think the way they taught
Placing people in neat boxes and rows
I now understand the raw suspicion
As hate is surely living well today
Masked now by political correctness
Lurking only in back rooms and boys' clubs
Where cowards safely spew acidic lies
But still, I find it difficult to play
Along with silly games of liberal schools
Teaching of discernment, yet division
Demarcating men by color still today
I cannot now see any other way
But to take a man only as he is
His face will tell me naught of his intentions
His actions and his words must make them clear
A controversial figure from the past
Who famously replaced his name with X
Said that I must first forget that he is black
And that I must never forget the fact
That he is black,
But this is my problem
I keep forgetting,
Even though I know
The purpose in this contradiction
Underlines the suffering endured
By generations gone in pain before
Yet, I cannot escape this inclination
When I see a man, I only see a man
A famous man once famously remarked
That a half-wit president didn't care
About black people,
I have a secret
Neither do I, care about black people
Nor do I care about white people
Or Arabs or Asians or Latinos
What I care about is people, nothing more
Any man who would break bread with me
Sit at my table, talk and share my wine
And poetry, thoughts and words divine
He, I will call my brother
I will take little notice of the hue
of his skin, but rather the light in his eye
And for women I care not the shade of
Their complexion, their origin of birth
Or the thousand definitions men devise
But instead I watch for a curious look
The pursed lips of a feminine pout
The curve of a breast and hips sublime
I look for her that will eat of the fruit
Of my mind,
like the orchards of Eden,
Reserved for those with daring in their souls
She, I will call my sister
Like the face of my creator, shines
So bright that I must avert my gaze
Before I am able to discern
His countenance,
It has no color
And like His unspeakable name is written,
My thoughts of any man will be blank,
Allowing him to be the author
Of my judgement
I will take him as his thoughts,
As his deeds - as his words - and nothing more
And though I am told to be aware
Of man's injustice, wrought by smaller minds
And smaller men,
taking this into my
Own consideration,
all that I am told
Is that I must see men as surface color
Granting special dispensation out of guilt
And carefully address them
Not as men
But representatives of races - yet,
When I see a man, I only see a man
I am told I must tread carefully
I am told I must be deferential
I am told to understand division
I am told to respect boundaries
Allowing a mere characteristic
To divide men from one another
I am told we will never transcend
Because of milligrams of melanin
I will refuse to do as I am told
Over the acres together they blend
An ocean of green stretches in soft waves
The current of wind washing over it
Ripples slowly the newly shorn blades
As is my rite in every new April
I walk out over the soft acres of grass
To the far away oak that rules the field
Standing in solitary dominion
Its strong arms lifting high its leafy crown
As I begin it is only a blemish
A small leafy pock on the horizon
And as I walk, as is always my wont
I watch it slowly grow with every step
Arriving I place my hand on its trunk
The midday shade splayed evenly around
I feel the craggy bark on my fingers
And peer up into the long slow branches
A few paces West of the tree I sit
And ponder the abundance around you
Your monument, the green life of this field
I see the shaded and soft waving blades
Newly sprung from the rest of cold winter
Gripping the slow rolling earth beneath them
As I rise I shift to my knee and think
Of the words you spoke on your final day,
“Let me rest beneath the oak where we met
So I might live in the grass of the field
In love, in life, in happiness and sorrow
In time these days from memory will fade
But our green sea, forever will remain”
I place a lilly gently on the slope
And ponder it’s white petals on the green
I feel you reaching through the resting blades
To breathe it’s fragrant nectar once again
And you smile, as you always smiled, for me
Upon breaking waves
I saw you floating
above the water,
daughter of Neptune,
sprouting from your root
Above the mountains
I kissed you softly
Cybele spied us
and sought to convert
us, before we fled
In great green forests
I chased you and caught
you, and built you a
home from their branches
Silvanus saw, and
cunningly trapped us,
making us the guards
of his woods and fields
Seeking to escape,
you sang to him once
a sweet sad song of
Pomona, making
him her sweet hero,
providing a home
to her luscious trees,
thwarting Vertumnus,
making her his own
In gratitude, he
granted your release
Even today I
work his fields, walking
up and down the rows
and sing to myself
minor harmonies
of the song you sang
Waiting long for your
return
it struck me, the way that she smoked
with no regard for passers-by,
the crowd shuffled past her slowly,
the odd head jerking toward her,
wearing a frown in faux-disgust
she leaned in the sun against the
rust brick wall, baking in the heat,
one foot grounded and the other
propped loose against the dingy wall
I watched her raise her cigarette,
slowly to her mouth and tug,
the end lighting up in hot delight
her arm dropped down as the slightest
smokey wisp escaped her lips and
vanished in her inhalation
the festival crowd, densely packed
with tired fathers and lonely
mothers shepherding their children
she stood in stark contrast as one,
singularly disaffected,
letting the trails of smoke waft up,
one slowly from her dangling hand,
the other a white puff of cloud
escaping her nose and her mouth
a young woman walked quickly by
and turned, scoffing to her sister,
expressing her astonishment
with a grand gesticulation
and then I saw the one, only,
indication she was aware
of the crowd she stood among
one side of her mouth turned slowly,
in a sly and sultry grin -
and again she raised her cigarette,
enjoying her moment in the sun
Her eyes were the color of varnished oak,
Shining in the white clarity of youth.
Her first glance, looking up from my query,
Fixed them upon me with her simple charm.
And then – suddenly smiled, easy and pure,
Taking my breath and soul without effort;
I knelt to be closer still as we spoke.
Words long forgotten and forgettable,
They play in my mind as a muted song,
As I still clearly see her soft brown eyes.
This moment is still fixed upon my mind,
A full score gone, since her song stole my soul,
Leaving me empty and forever changed.
A lifetime of memories follow fast,
All wound up in tumbling confusion;
They slow to a stop when I remember,
That one look, followed by a simple smile.
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