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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I was eleven years old When I watched, from the shag carpeted floor, Roots – the series proclaiming Injustice beyond my comprehension Prejudice that would prevent me From ever blurting that horrible word Despite all of my sins The darkness that drowned out my hopes Somedays making me feel like I deserved The worst there is, the cell… Where prisoners slept – the cross… Where Jesus met death, I didn’t say that word, the one starting with “n” There was one girl in my class that year She was black and she was my friend I felt the need to share my heart with her As we stood in a lunch line, Waiting for the scoops of mashed potatoes and dumplings The carton of milk that accompanied them “I watched Roots…” I hesitated, Watching her dark eyes fade gray Before I could tell her that I felt ashamed Of the whites who had been my ancestors My forefathers, my relatives… She turned away and didn’t look back I never had the opportunity to say anything else About Roots or my shame or the fact that I wanted her to know I didn’t claim to understand How she felt.. No, I wasn’t black But I knew she was good and kind and I loved her And, I absolutely wouldn’t ever say that word The one that started with “n”, the one that taught me That the darkness inside those called Master Was a bigger darkness than the black skin of the slave
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