Prologue
my ancestors, my children
The trees are sending down their sugar
to the roots.
They are no longer sending up
to the leaves new energy.
They have what they need.
Listen with me.
What I need, I need to say to my white
children first.
Raised in church. Touching the Bible.
Listen with me.
My children, it is not anyone else’s job
to deal with our discomfort, our ghosts,
something like guilt or rage we keep in our skin.
Generations injured intervene
before another generation’s injured.
The goal is something embodied, something real.
Dehumanizing disparity undone.
Food shared. Bodies healed.
One means to the goal is family stories
shared. Secrets aired.
Anxiety becomes curiosity.
Curiosity becomes love.
What is at stake is not innocence.
We are not innocent.
The work must not start from self-deception.
God can do more with truth.
We must lose something precious, to find
our souls instead.
So it starts with those who listen.