One day and Indian
man and an Indian woman stand toe to toe trying to heal, trying to give and
receive professions of love despite learned feelings of inadequacy. A white man
walks straight up and interrupts, begging for a dollar. (Again and again his situation
is more pressing than theirs. The weight of a dollar paramount to the weight of
grieving ancestors behind us and broken generations stretched out before us.)
This Indian man and Indian woman are aware of his lies and spend a dollar to
send him away. Their moment is lost. This is the refrain of 500 years.
When will you learn to not interrupt?
Jess McPherson
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