History Reflections

Scratch….

The words on the sheet blur into a smear of black ink,

Death,           Fear,            Rebellion,             Festival,        Laughter,             Tears,

The pen slips out of my grip and falls to the floor.

[Thud]

Eyes shutter close heavy like curtain drapes,

Ahead, a long, tortuous stair unfolds,

A cold draft blows out the fire in the hearth and candles wither back in fear of being extinguished,

The stairs stiff and strong, but boards torn and worn,

Walking around in an upward ascent,

Having no thought where my feet was leading me,

Right, Left, Turn, Forward,

There.

I see it.

A door looms ahead, standing tall and forbidding,

A bright light illuminates from within,

So compelling none could look away,

And yet, the eerie silence plants a seed of doubt,

Dare I enter?

     I dare.

Groans and screams of agony reach my ears,

Bodies tangled and chained together, writhing on the ship’s deck,

”Toss that filthy creature overboard!”

My head whips around in shock to find the source,

An overseer with a wicked sneer pasted on his ruddy face stands by the ship’s helm,

Hollering and pummeling the cowering bodies with his fists,

This must be the Atlantic slave trade.

[The scene shifts]

A group of refined, wealthy gentlemen crowd around the circular mahogany table in the center of the room,

Their voices intense and passionate as they one by one signed the paper knowing it was for life,

The words “Representation”, “Freedom”, “Britain”, “Taxation”, and “Revolution” drift to my ears,

Why, this must be the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

Imperialism,

Fleets from their mother countries leave their docks,

Heading in various directions: Africa, Asia, South America, the Indies…

Mothers stand proud, silent tears, but sparkling eyes, handkerchiefs waving,

Their sons and spouses heading off to foreign lands to educate, lead, and Christianize the foreigners,

The White Man’s Burden.

Heat waves ravage the land after endless hard toil,

Famine sprouts as the stock market crashes,

The sun, stands, unrelenting,

Streets fill, crowded with folds of millions unemployed,

The Great Depression.

Haggard faces, eyes empty, bleak, and lost,

Limbs and sockets creak from malfunction and endless toil,

Living skeletons, not a single shred of living flesh,

Jewish concentration camps.

Signs waving passionately in the air,

Black Americans hollering,

“No more white or black!”                      “Equal Pay”                “Decent Housing”

A black man, standing tall and proud, determined and nervous, makes a speech.

Martin Luther King and the Civil Rights Movement.

The mist leaves and once again,

I am transported backward,

Back…to the present.

I write.

Throughout the centuries of American history,

Through wicked and bad,

Through prestigious and honorable moments,

One thing is certain,

Life is a journey with no certain destination,

Instead, it carves into history and makes this world the way it is.

This is nature.

This is life.