1963: In the Beginning: I Have a Dream
March on Washington, August 1963
Tonight I have a dream
a bad dream.
I walk into the living room
Where Father stands.
And Mother sits.
Shouting.
Mother tells me to quiet down.
She turns
and yells at the box
with the rabbit ears
and watches
and listens.
Black and white beads
run all over the picture
Father pounds his fist
on the box.
He sighs. “Piece of rubbish”.
“To the left. More. Don’t move!”
Father stands very still beside the box.
He holds the rabbit ears in a funny shape.
The fuzzy sound crackles.
“There he is!”
Father leans over. The rabbit ears bend over.
All I see are black and white beads.
“Don’t move!”
I lean into the couch. It holds me.
My fuzzy pajamas
warm me.
I look over at the box.
Now there are black and white people.
Everywhere.
A man is shouting. Loud.
Shaking his fist.
He has a dream.
“Huh! A Blackie thinks he can change the world.
Everyone thinks he can change the world.”
Father drops the rabbit ears.
The box goes fuzzy.
Mother marches me to bed.
I have no dream.
Just a wish
for Mama to look
at me. And smile.
September 1963
Today we moved
to a new house.
On a new street
in a new city
in a new province.
In the same country
in the same world.
Where frogs chatter
in the laurel trees outside.
And sing so loud
I cannot hear
my little sister cry.
Mother does not like
the pink and blue paint
in the kitchen,
so men come to scratch it off.
It stays cloudy all day.
Then they colour
everything brown.
I liked the pink and blue kitchen best
because I could breathe.
Now a big fat man sits on my chest
and squeezes my throat.
Wind whistles
and a truck revs its motor
each time I inhale.
So Mother plugs in a machine.
Mother says, “It will make you better”.
It doesn’t.
Mother shouts, “Hold still”.
I wriggle and twist
Mother presses me down against my mattress
and scrubs my swollen neck
and chest with Vicks Vapor Rub.
And stuffs a blob up my nose.
She forgets
that I am not the kitchen linoleum
with black scuff marks.
“Say your prayers,” comes the command.
“Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
Love stay with me through the night
Wake me with the morning light”.
“Now, go to sleep”.
I suck in a deep breath,
“Do you love me?”
A pause. “Go to sleep”.
“Click”. The light goes out.
“Clack. Clack”. Mother’s shoes walk away.
“Clunk”. The door snaps closed.
Now I miss my old house
and my backyard skating rink
and my log cabin playhouse.
And the sunshine at bedtime.
Where I could breathe.
And Mother didn’t yell at me.
I close my eyes.
I have a dream.
That I can change
my world.
November 22, 1963
Today I am sad.
My Brother
plays Cowboys and Indians.
He runs past me. Fast.
Points his toy gun.
“Bang. Bang. You’re dead!”
A gun shot
JFK.
It is a very sad day.