I was hoping to get back and write another entry yesterday, get back on track so-to-speak, but alas, that did not happen. So, here we are again, looking at ways to heal one's country with words. It got me thinking of when we've seen this happen - or, at least, as close as it can come in human history - and really, there are only a few that stand out in recent memory. Among them, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, and Mahatma Ghandi - men who proved the power of purposefully healing with words, rather than through force. We need to follow their example, stay away from violence, and use words to heal.
Day 17:
just a street corner
they say it like it doesn't matter,
on the 11 o'clock news,
on this corner in this neighborhood,
a scene unfolded,
a man was shot,
killed,
but they don't know anything,
until tomorrow,
when it will be too late.
my brother,
my friend,
my nephew,
my father,
my son,
will already be gone.
they look for someone to blame,
anyone,
as long as they fit a description,
they don't care
about the story,
the reason why,
they don't wanna know
unless it sells a paper or creates another viewer.
but it's still just a street corner
to them.
to me, it's where my life went from rough
to hell.
Day 18:
a quarter mile of hazelwood
a quarter mile.
all that exists of my street from my house to the main road,
there's sort-of new construction across from me,
but even that is starting to show its 25 years.
nothing else is new.
there are vacant lots where houses once stood,
memories now only witnessed by
the vacant concrete steps left in the wall -
steps leading to nowhere.
condemned buildings can be found,
between the houses where a few old people
still try to hang on.
this is their life - they know nothing else.
i met the brother of the man across the street -
they grew up here,
and he could name the families that lived in each house,
names that hold nothing for me,
not even a scratch in concrete to prove they were here.
the city came and took down one house, about a year ago,
we haven't seen them since.
sometimes they might show up to sweep the street in the summer,
in the winter we're lucky if we ever see a plow.
the firemen like it here -
it's narrow and tight,
and they practice seeing if they can make the tight turns here.
but the people here - they're good folk.
and they have stories that should be told.
I realize that maybe that last one belongs in the neighborhood week, but I think it's bigger than that. Every city, everywhere, has a street like mine. Maybe we know where that street is, and maybe we don't. but I wonder if we owe it to ourselves to find that street, if we don't know where it is. And if we DO know, do we know who lives there? Do we make the effort? Or do we shut out those stories?
Thanks for reading,
Me
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