A chalk line is drawn
across ragged asphalt.
Whose side are you on
shouts the schoolyard bully.
As one finger points out
three fingers point back.
We are all to blame,
but none will confess.
Words, words, words,
written, shouted, unspoken, accused,
do little to heal.
Our words, underground currents
of water, control the rise and fall
of tides that were and will be.
But those fingers who point;
Oh how they hold the power,
power to heal, to edify, to unify.
Tears do not soothe
the question of the schoolyard bully
as it taunts my soul.
I dig to the deepest of my native recesses
to the ancestral wisdom beneath
thrown stones and petrified sticks.
The ancient fires slowly burn
from my toes to my heart.
The answer quietly quivers
in my throat…Humanity stands upright
as it hits the air, hand extended.