At the Corner of Liberty

Mom says it’s da ghetto.
Mom says her child is better than that white trash. But how so?
Mom says niggers walk down the street at all hours.
That’s where the words cease to flow.
The words are cut off briskly by my attitude; the mind that has never tolerated racism; the character that told my father at age six that anyone could have taken a shit by our pond, not specifically a person of color.
“Please, Daddy. Get real. It could have been a person as white as snow!”
But this attitude never infiltrated my elders’ minds.
Mom still says she won’t be at my wedding if I decide to marry Jacquizz.
The constant criticism of color will never be allowed to affect my ears, let alone my brain.
There are no voices inside that tell me to focus on fear.
Only my mother’s.
But mothers know best, right?
BULLSHIT.
There was no crack house busted next door.
There was no car stolen in the church parking lot.
And no one was mugged at the deli, Mom.
Just plain bullshit.
To feed these thoughts, she conceived that she was so cleverly placing in intricate corners of my mind.
Ha!
I shall live my life just fine, thank you.
After all, at twenty-two, it is called Liberty.

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