I wrote this poem as a way of wrapping up some of the experiences with racism I have had in my life…
I grew up in segregated
Indiana in the 50s. My mother’s family lived on a farm and on Sunday when they went to church they took
a picnic basket so they could stay for the KKK
meeting afterwards.
My mother told me this not long before she died. I never saw
anything other than attitude and language that gave her and others in the
family away, and I knew these beliefs were wrong. My ex-husband and father of
my children is African American. This is the groundwork of
the poem.
Ring-Around-The Rosy
I remember refusing to play
ring-around-the rosy
on the veranda because of the way our Mother taught it to us.
She
must have learned her version at the picnic after church
when
she was a little girl.
A
community of farmers ate their lunch while they had their meeting;
not sure what the women did, maybe join the
meeting,
or watch the children play and sing
ring-around-the
rosy last one down’s a nigger-baby….
I knew
this was wrong, so my first act of protest
was at
five years old
and it was
to not play a child’s game.
I got
older and noticed things like
Major
who worked for my Dad but was really his friend
was
expected to drink from the garden hose
as he waited outside.
I would get in trouble when I brought a glass
of water from the house
because maybe the neighbors would see.
Our
town was segregated, we lived along a river
and
across the river was the black part of town.
On hot
summer nights I would sit in my Mother’s room
listening
to those across the river at the summer revival
singing
out their praises.
When it
got quiet,
I would
take out my violin and play;
I thought they could hear me, as
I had heard them.
As life would unfold, I fell in love and
Mom
kept asking what was it that
I wasn’t telling her about
him, so, I told her.
Well, I
don’t know if they really went to a lawyer and disowned me,
but
they said they did.
Then,
they went to their minister.
He made
it clear that God did not expect them to accept this
marriage, nor, any children
that came from it.
Yeap,
he really gave that advice.
When
they got home, Dad called and said he knew that isn’t what the minister was
supposed to say, so,
we’re
gonna’ come out and meet this guy.
But,
not for the wedding, before.
My best
friend’s Mother hosted a dinner and everyone met.
Dad
said he hadn’t wanted to like them
but
they were such nice people, he did.
Dad was
ready for us to visit. It took Mom longer,
but, she
got there and set a profound example for her community later,
when my
Father died.
Lots of
people came and Mom met them all at the door
and
walked them up to the casket.
Then, I
saw Major coming in the door.
I was
enormously proud of Mom as she walked up to Major,
greeted
him, took his arm and led him up to say his good-bye.
I
noticed several heads move together and shake
with a,
did you see what Alice just did?
~
© Noor-Malika Chishti, May 23, 2013; Pasadena, California
Noor-Malika Chishti has been a student in the Sufi tradition since 1972; she serves as an authorized representative of Pir Zia Inayat Khan. She began writing poetry when she was in grammar school; it now serves her in processing the lessons life brings. NMC is very involved in interfaith and is a Founding member of the Southern California Committee for the Parliament of World Religions; she now serves on the Advisory Board. Noor-Malika presented workshops at the 2009 Melbourne Parliament of World Religions on "Listening with a Heart of Mercy, "Listening to the Other: Building a House of Prayer for Christians, Jews and Muslims,” and “Spiritual Intimacy: Taking Interfaith Engagement to the Next Level.” She has two children that were born at home with a midwife and has three grandchildren.
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