Red Dirt, Wall Street, Busy Feet
Bill Beardslee
I recall the red dust of Rimbi Zimbabwe’s roads rising to my nose in the relentless heat
that beat down upon my pale skin. That dust lingers still in my socks despite how many
times they’ve been washed. They tell me, “Do not forget.”
Do not forget the good hearted people, beaten and bruised from want and struggle.
Do not forget their weary feet, the miles they walk and walk, down these endless streets, broken from disrepair, pieces strewn about like their hopes and dreams.
Do not forget their laughter and love and hope for the day when…
Do not forget the children,
making play out of red dirt and dust, wheels, rocks, and half trucks.
Do not forget their laughter and fascination with skin some have never seen but which left them legacies of colonialism that occupy their souls.
Do not forget $300 dollars there buys a years education while we spend that on chewing gum and hand bags.
Do not forget the big, open-armed welcome that sweeps you into their hearts, arms and lives as if you were the most important person on the planet.
Do not forget the toothless suited wanderer passing by the non-electric home
who wanders up the bank and speaks not and sits down and is fed without question
with food that appears from the one who is bent over the fire cooking for so many
morning noon and night with hardly a break.
Water, precious
water is poured over his hands as it is over everyone’s,
he eats, washes again, bows and is gone.
Do not forget the shop keepers who strive to make ends meet,
Do not forget the bore well pumps that bear precious water for people and cattle.
Do not forget the lucky outhouse or hole in the ground
while as you squat you long for running water and toilet.
Do not forget the love given and love received, in family, friendship, conversation,
from the teachers, the laborers, the artists, mechanics, ministers and truck drivers,
all like me, all like you, trying to find their way through.
And so I do not forget. I remember
I weep
for them,
because of their pain and suffering,
their deprivation due to greed and power,
for myself over my not necessarily welcomed privilege,
for feeling helplessness.
I come full circle to Occupy Wall Street,
the marching feet,
and standing still,
sitting down and refusing to move.
The determination to make a statement
as important as the action
as precursor to Occupying the Future
With the Imagination and reality of what CAN and WILL be.
From statement to the pavement of living in this blessed world
Day to day, moment to moment is of the essence.
Pundits will condemn it, talking heads will deface it
YET….Yet those who flock, those who talk,
Those who dare walk the talk
And live the non-violent walk
Set the paradigm
That meets the future with LOVE in FREEDOM.
Do not doubt, my friends, that this moment
This movement, this gesture toward the future
Which meets us, here and NOW
Speaks to, touches, emboldens, inspires, holds and supports us
The people whose busy feet
bear the red dirt, dust and history of Rimbi.
that beat down upon my pale skin. That dust lingers still in my socks despite how many
times they’ve been washed. They tell me, “Do not forget.”
Do not forget the good hearted people, beaten and bruised from want and struggle.
Do not forget their weary feet, the miles they walk and walk, down these endless streets, broken from disrepair, pieces strewn about like their hopes and dreams.
Do not forget their laughter and love and hope for the day when…
Do not forget the children,
making play out of red dirt and dust, wheels, rocks, and half trucks.
Do not forget their laughter and fascination with skin some have never seen but which left them legacies of colonialism that occupy their souls.
Do not forget $300 dollars there buys a years education while we spend that on chewing gum and hand bags.
Do not forget the big, open-armed welcome that sweeps you into their hearts, arms and lives as if you were the most important person on the planet.
Do not forget the toothless suited wanderer passing by the non-electric home
who wanders up the bank and speaks not and sits down and is fed without question
with food that appears from the one who is bent over the fire cooking for so many
morning noon and night with hardly a break.
Water, precious
water is poured over his hands as it is over everyone’s,
he eats, washes again, bows and is gone.
Do not forget the shop keepers who strive to make ends meet,
Do not forget the bore well pumps that bear precious water for people and cattle.
Do not forget the lucky outhouse or hole in the ground
while as you squat you long for running water and toilet.
Do not forget the love given and love received, in family, friendship, conversation,
from the teachers, the laborers, the artists, mechanics, ministers and truck drivers,
all like me, all like you, trying to find their way through.
And so I do not forget. I remember
I weep
for them,
because of their pain and suffering,
their deprivation due to greed and power,
for myself over my not necessarily welcomed privilege,
for feeling helplessness.
I come full circle to Occupy Wall Street,
the marching feet,
and standing still,
sitting down and refusing to move.
The determination to make a statement
as important as the action
as precursor to Occupying the Future
With the Imagination and reality of what CAN and WILL be.
From statement to the pavement of living in this blessed world
Day to day, moment to moment is of the essence.
Pundits will condemn it, talking heads will deface it
YET….Yet those who flock, those who talk,
Those who dare walk the talk
And live the non-violent walk
Set the paradigm
That meets the future with LOVE in FREEDOM.
Do not doubt, my friends, that this moment
This movement, this gesture toward the future
Which meets us, here and NOW
Speaks to, touches, emboldens, inspires, holds and supports us
The people whose busy feet
bear the red dirt, dust and history of Rimbi.