Poem 1: Is it Wrong or Right?
Is it wrong?
Dreaming, not acting;
Wanting, not reaching;
Seeing, not solving;
Watching, not participating?
I hear it often and do not know where it comes from, “You don’t know what you don’t know.”
For most of my life I have not been humble enough to acknowledge I didn’t have all the answers, or know enough to resolve, solve, or fix something. This leads to a propensity to put forth platitudes or convenient “solutions” for others (thinking that I know best).
My throat is dry, hand trembling.
Heart is racing, I want to run, run far away.
It has been decades, but I still feel small.
As a young child, we lived in the Northwest. For much of my formative years our family lived in Montana, in a community where I do not remember even knowing anyone of another skin color. Not just black, but any other racial identity that was not Caucasian (though my father was the first Non-Native American to teach courses on the Blackfoot Reservation nearby).
As a child I grew up in the Northwest and the term Barbeque was a verb. You barbequed a meat it was an action word, not a noun. When I advanced to Junior High (7th grade), our family moved to Tennessee. There was a drastic culture shock in many ways, but one incident involved a food called barbeque. In Tennessee, at that time in 1977, barbeque was a noun.
My husband and I have had the privilege of becoming acquainted with the Martin Family (Group name Rockland Road) since moving to Hendersonville, Tennessee.