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Catherine Coneal Poem
That’s the way it is…
I drive across 3 counties for work every day.
I count the Confederate flags along the way.
That has always been so puzzling to me,
Why would you fly the flag of the loser?
When so many have fought and died so we can ALL be free.
By the time I was 6 I had been taught to fear.
Different was bad, same was good.
Same story year after year.
When I was 8 I asked,
Why do black people have to be out of town by dark?
The reply – that’s the way it is.
When I as 12 I asked,
The nuns taught us about social justice, why don’t we have that here?
The reply- that’s the way it is.
When I was 16 I asked,
Why don’t black and white people date?
The reply – that’s the way it is.
When I was 20 and learned some world history,
I asked,
Why didn’t black people get their 40 acers and a mule?
Why did Jim Crow laws exist?
Why would we need separate schools?
The reply – that’s the way it is.
When I was 21 I worked in an office where I was the only white.
I asked – why are black women so angry?
Listening to their daily existence blew my mind.
Yet, to me, my lost young self, they were so caring and kind…
At 40 I became a nurse.
I raged at the lack of, the disparity of healthcare,
The unnecessary disease and death.
I asked over and over – why???
How can we just let people die?!
The reply – that’s the way it is.
Long ago I realized life was often unfair.
Much more unfair to some, rather than others,
The preachers would preach of sisters and brothers.
In the streets it was same and other.
That’s the way it is,
Until it IS NOT.
Too many years of smile and nod,
Walk in the middle, toe the line.
The time for silence is over.
The time for change is NOW
That's the way IT IS!
Copyright © Catherine Coneal | Year Posted 2020
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Catherine Coneal Poem
Father’s Day 2020
Father’s Day this year, unexpectedly has me in tears.
Not sure why,
Where did the time go, 2.5 years ago we said goodbye.
I can’t watch the news it gives me chest pain,
Dad, what I’d give to talk to you again.
Topics we talked about in the 70’s,
Seems like long ago, we’ve made some strides.
Sometimes Dad the lies and hate are more than I can abide.
My father was a man of few words,
Unless he really thought you were listening, he was being heard.
People often underestimated his wisdom,
He was a workin’ man, no college degree.
Lessons he taught me over a cup of coffee,
Working his land, no boss man, accomplishments to him that he was free.
In 30 seconds, he would watch and listen,
He could size you up.
Were you honest? Were you fair?
Did you live your bible teaching, or were you full of hot air?
He’d say, don’t waste your breath arguing,
Most folks love the sound of their own voice.
You know right from wrong, often right is the longer, harder choice.
I left the country, went off to school
Dad would remind me- don’t let that book learnin’ go to your head,
You learned some things about the world, that’s well and good,
But never forget where you started, the hands that worked,
The long hours, the welding burns, the hogs and cattle that pulled you out of the red.
Don’t expect anything to be given to you,
Everything in this life worth having is earned.
Dad thanks for telling me to get up, every time I fell,
For all the lessons learned.
So many father’s day I’d ask- what gift did you want?
You’d always say – come visit me.
I didn’t get it then, I do now.
What I’d give to fish with you one more time,
Under the shade of those oak trees
Copyright © Catherine Coneal | Year Posted 2020
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