I guess this poem is more important now, in the face of current events, than it was before. So now I'll post it. Before I do, here is a little background on why I'm so damned riled up.
I grew up in a city where I was around black people all the time. It wasn't an issue to me, until someone told me it was, until someone tried to teach me.
It wasn't my parents. My mother and father taught me to respect everyone equally.
But at every big family reunion, there would inevitably be the hatred, the racism, the "jokes". They weren't funny. This isn't what my mom and dad taught me. How did my parents learn to be different from their families?
When I was little, all I wanted was for my hair to be in braids, to have those pretty pink clips and twisty beads. I wanted a head full of twists and braids! They looked so wonderful. To me, that was the cool thing. That's what a lot of little girls had. But my hair lay limp like a noodle, almost unable to be curled at all, even with tons of hair spray! That desire for pretty braids was not "exoticism", but a child's admiration of something she could never have. (To be fair, I'd never encroach on someone else's fashion or culture to make my own empty fashion statement. The grass might look greener, but it's not my fucking lawn.)
Then, as I got older, and went off into the world, I became obsessed with diversity. I met all sorts of "white" people, and "brown" people, and "black" people, and so many colors in between, from so many countries, with so many languages and cultures. It was hard to tell if one color could define a country or language or religion. They all left behind invaluable memories, good times and great conversations.
When I returned to my home town, my own friends from high school were there, unchanged it seemed. Except, I noticed something I never noticed before--- they were horribly racist. They dropped slurs and curses about race like the words fit into normal conversation. Even the most LIBERAL hippies, dropping words I never thought I'd hear from such free thinkers. I didn't know what to say. I felt different. I felt like I had read the end of the story, and they were still somewhere around the beginning. I felt good that I knew the truth, but also horrible that they thought their reality was truth.
Still, I take measures every day to not buy into it-- because even those of us who don't feel racist, who don't involve ourselves in it, are subject to racism's mind-altering effects. I have felt the reactions myself. I take an aggressive stance toward any thoughts that leak in from those negative, horrible, poisonous people who HATE so completely. Get those ideas out. If you were afraid or angry, figure out why. Test yourself. Sure as shit, you were feeling that way for no reason, or because someone said you should. Now you just feel like a sorry piece of white trash. Breathe. The poison is leaving.
What I'm telling you is that even with your eyes wide open, you can be fooled. It has happened to me and it will continue to happen, and I will continue to swat away the parasites who feed on my mind.
So, this poem is about the word. It also concerns the meanings associated with the word and the physical color "black". I feel that "black" gets a bad reputation in Western mythology as being dangerous, scary, evil, and unknown. That is part of the reason why calling an entire race "black" can be damaging. So, let's flip that reputation a bit, shall we?
I hope you enjoy it. Please send me any thoughts, positive or negative.
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The color black
Is admirable.
The color of undisturbed night.
The satin veil of starless beauty.
The unknown, the perfect fear,
The movie theater
After the final credits roll.
The end.
The beginning.
The everlasting.
The color that shows respect
For the valiant dead.
The hue of none.
The lack, and the filling.
The ombre, or the deepest sea.
The closing of the lid.
Everything held precious inside.
Enveloped by
Consumed by
Comforted by
Completed by
The natural quality of
Blackness.
3 May 2014
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