The holidays are finally over at my house, well sort of. The Christmas tree is still up and decorated and lapping up water and I have two stockings that still need to be delivered and a couple friends are still without gifts, but the calendar has cleared, and the traveling ended. After getting a speeding ticket (my first!), hitting a detour, and being stopped by a train all in a matter of minutes last Monday, I took the hint; it’s time to slow down and be still in what’s left of winter. And so, I am.

I’ve spent much of January listening. Martin Luther King Jr. challenged us to use our voices to raise awareness, to fight injustice, to stand for truth. Over his holiday weekend I heard his message in the music of Lang Owen and the poetry of Al Black, both from Columbia, SC. Both are keen observers of human nature and each in his own way makes us stop, see and think. Lang in his troubadour-like delivery has us focus on the small things, like a broom and the man pushing it, or the family behind the name engraved on a house’s lintel. Al’s baritone booms out his poetry, some only a few lines long, but the issues are mighty. There are times I wait for him to add, ‘Are ya blind?!’ after he’s made his point. Because apparently, we are, or we’d be doing things differently.                                                                 

I lost my voice several years ago while facilitating a small discussion group, when one person briefly went off topic – as often happened. The person’s tangent included personal opinions on interracial marriages, interracial neighborhoods, etc.–which had absolutely nothing to do with our discussion. She appeared oblivious to the presence of the one Black person sitting a chair away, oblivious to the blatant racial tone of her comments. The rest of us were stunned into muteness for the minute or so her racist ideas tumbled out as nonchalantly as if she were questioning, which chair she should sit in. As facilitator it was my responsibility to stop her, and I didn’t. I’m still ashamed of that.

The following week, I caught up with the Black gentleman and through my tears apologized for not having said anything, for not stopping our fellow member. He shrugged, shook his head, and said it happened all the time. He meant both the racist comments that are thrown without thinking, and also the lack of calling them out. His matter-of-factness added to my discomfort. He didn’t say he was disappointed, but he expressed it and I promised him, and myself, I’d do better.  

Speaking out continues to be difficult for me, though I do it. Writing comes more naturally than vocalizing. I hold the image of that man in my heart always, and I now have a bi-racial grandson who knows his skin is a different hue than the rest of the family’s, always chooses the mocha-colored crayon when drawing self-portraits. I still haven’t figured out what holds my tongue in those rare instances I don’t speak up, but the why isn’t important. We’re challenged to be bold.

Saturday during the Kakalak 2023 book launch, I listened to poets using their voices, raising awareness about abortion rights, minorities, refugees, and domestic abuse. Some made us clap in solidarity, (the event took place in our Cultural Arts Center, a former church, and murmurs of amens after those poems would not have been out of place), others caused uncomfortable silence. Of course, the anthology balances the weight of those poems with lighter and more poignant poems on topics like playing board games with grandchildren and attending 50^th high school reunions. Those also had us cheering and clapping … and laughing. Part of the fun of editing is striking that balance. I’ll miss that this year as I take a sabbatical from Kakalak. In my year off I’ll be concentrating on my writing, fingers crossed I can be as bold as Al and these other poets.  

Winter is in full snowy bloom in many parts across the country, not a flake here unfortunately, but my daffodils are up! No buttery trumpeted flowers yet, but the green spikes of leaves and stems are defying the cold snap, proving delicate doesn’t mean weak, and bringing the promise and reassurance of spring. I’ll be back earlier next Monday with the first Book Review Monday of the year. Until then, I hope you have a wonderful, warm week. I’m staying close to home … at least for now.