In a corner of my mind, in a dark bit of space that knows no peace, old tongues chant the same old words: “Things were different back then. The past was harsh and brutal, separate and unequal. But all is better now. Everyone gets a chance. Anyone who works for it gets to be whatever they want. Aren’t you glad? Aren’t you grateful?” My heart wants to say yes—if you love the dream, my heart sings, believe it and it will be yours—but heartsong can’t quiet lived memories. I know.the only Black boyin line, can not move aheadbefore getting friskedphoto by Marcus Bellamy, on UnsplashI don’t know the individual in the photo (I’m pretty sure it’s a self-portrait of the photographer), but the frustration in his expression spoke to me.
for Poets and Storytellers United (Weekly Scribblings #27: Things Were Different Back Then and Writers’ Pantry #28: The rain is like my heart)