August 15, 2017
My great, great grandfather,
was klan
They found from a cloak in the closet,
After his death.
I am not proud.
But this is where I make my stand
I am sure in the family
he was not alone,
–Mine and yours,
It is a brotherhood,
A sisterhood,
Of hooded hoods,
Stirring a vitriole of self esteem,
Comprised of outward hate
Of anything too far out of reach
To understand,
Customized to rally and engage
every man, woman,
and child,
And then we look down
With self shame, guilt,
Letting the hoods parade past
Numbers unscathed,
And so the parade marches longer,
As we are unwilling to face
This all too familiar hate
No longer masked,
And on a familiar face
Boredom
And hard times,
Compounded by
Ignorance,
Fed upon
By serpentine minds,
Harp on the willing,
Eager to place blame
And fabricate lies
Fueling the base
That teaches self love
Through hate,
Claiming epidermal unity,
Adding religious creed,
Wherever it serves the need
Perverting patriotism,
Head shaven, business attire, or white hood,
Ideologies the same,
Do not ignore the difficult topic,
It is cutting too close to home now,
Or become complicit
In the very hate you wish not to condone,
Washing your hands,
In blood of the fallen,
Denial becomes guilt becomes white clothen attire,
Feel the heat
As the crosses burn,
As the rallies chant,
This shame need not last unchallenged
Love conquers hate,
And this is all of our America.
She of Letters 