they ask me to remember
but they want me to remember
their memories
and i keep on remembering mine
~Lucille Clifton, “why some people be mad at me sometimes,” from Blessing the Boats, New and Selected Poems 1988-2000
Isn’t that always the case? Isn’t that half our problem each time we try to talk to talk to each other about conflicts of any sort? Aren’t we always waiting for the other to remember, not their memories, but our own?
Yes, Dr. King, I too have a dream. Let freedom, and unity, and love, and understanding, and compassion, and respect ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. Let freedom ring, indeed.
