Reflections on Macy

When I was in middle school, I went on several trips to an Indian reservation in Nebraska. I went with my church, who gathered with other churches to lead Bible studies, church services, and other various activities. We gave out clothing, shampoo, soap, socks, and other essentials to the residents of the community. Though ugly things were everywhere, the children there were beautiful. They loved freely and openly, without adult hesitation. I have wonderful memories from these trips. I met some of my best friends while on them. I was reflecting on those past summers yesterday and wrote these:

“Summer Feeding”

Before that day I never noticed
Something so obvious as skin.
Mine, so pale, so white,
So other
In a room full of tan faces.
Natives they were
And me just a stranger,
Eating where they ate,
Sitting in their seats,
Drinking their chocolate milk,
Which was, of course, dark too.

 I sat across from my friend,
Another other,
Whose skin matched mine,
Whose hair stood out
Bright and flaming red.
We were the majority
Turned into the minority
All because we walked into that room
With its metal tables and chairs.
Like everyong else, we sat down
With our plastic trays.

We ate our sandwiches on their white bread,
Looking around the room, thinking
Two of these things are not like the others.
Then I noticed that no one else noticed
Our sudden presence at their lunch.
They ate their sandwiches, too,
And drank their chocolate milk.
Their cafeteria went unchanged that summer
But we had new eyes to see
The skin we’d been sealed in all along,
The skin no one saw but us.

“Macy”

Instead of grass, the yards were littered
With brown beer bottles
Or other discarded things
Which never made it to a trash can.

The housing units were new in years
But old in life.
The inside messes were spilling outside,
The new paint already chipped.

Poverty was everywhere, but parents
Not so much. Kids wandered
Barefoot, some as a unit
With brothers and sisters in tow.

Though the young grew up fast
They were still like kids
So eager and willing to love
Anyone who showed them love first.

Love there was painting toenails,
Or singing songs or pushing
One another on the swings.
Sometimes it was holding dirty hands.

It takes grace to see beauty
In a place where beauty hides
Behind what is dark and filthy
Yet undeniably worth saving.

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