A short poem from Election Day (my ancestors owned slaves, and I was just pondering...)

[gauguin57]

It was In the Cards

By (gauguin57)

A woman stands on the sidewalk in front of a church,
Dealing out her cards to a restless crowd
Of voters shifting on their feet in line.
These face cards do not bear the images
Of queens or knaves
But of candidates she hopes will fix the world, and
Her tiny corner of it. She deals her cards,
Hoping these citizens will bet on these faces.
The face at the top of the card is brown.
The woman’s skin is white.
And within a book from her fathers’ shelf
Lies an interesting, embarrassing truth:
Her ancestors owned slaves in the South.
Her progenitors bought black people;
Today she sells a dream of a black man
Leading her country.
It is a dream her ancestors wouldn’t comprehend.
It is a dream deferred.
On the sidewalk in front of the church
She deals her cards and takes a chance
On her heart being broken,
Of a cycle left unbroken.
But late that night, with red-rimmed eyes,
She sees a dream realized,
A cycle broken, an ancient wrong righted.
It was always in the cards.

[gauguin57]

1. Wow ... as the day goes along, I'm more moved by this concept that occurred to me yesterday.

That here I am, both the grandchild of immigrants (on one side) and the great-great-great-whatever-child of slave owners on the other side.

And here's Barack Obama -- who represents different races and cultures within one person, and who has turned the world my slave-owning ancestors profited from UPSIDE FREAKING DOWN!!!