Poem: Roots

At the end of the Civil War
my great-grandfather walked
four hundred miles
back home to Georgia
and gave up his gun.
Said he’d seen enough dead
men and beasts in those
four years to cure a man
of hunting, forever.

Not too long after that
he stumbled in the night
upon four men in sheets
about to lynch a Negro.

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At the end of the Civil War
my great-grandfather walked
four hundred miles
back home to Georgia
and gave up his gun.
Said he’d seen enough dead
men and beasts in those
four years to cure a man
of hunting, forever.

Not too long after that
he stumbled in the night
upon four men in sheets
about to lynch a Negro.
In those days one knew
all one’s neighbors. He yelled, “What you plannin’
to do with that man?”
They yelled, “Kill him!”
He said, “You do, and I’ll
turn your names in to the
authorities, every last
one of you!”
They said, “You do, and we’ll
shoot you, too!”
They did.
The next day, he did.
And that night,
as he sat with his family
at supper,
they did.

Emily Whittle

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What is Mindfulness

Thich Nhat Hanh January 15, 2020

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