Connection
a poem about friendship
On the surface, you might think we’d never connect:
Her Japanese American uncles drank from the “white” water fountains when they were soldiers. They didn’t know why; they just did it.
My African American uncles could either drink from the “colored” fountains or, not drink at all. They knew why, so they just didn’t drink.
But her ancestors, including her father, were interned. Caged.
And mine were enslaved. Chained.
We both know how unfair our country can be. We both believe in its promise. There’s a connection.
Perhaps that’s why somehow, on different sides of the nation, California and Tennessee, we both chose the flute.
We both studied piano.
We became friends. Sharing decades and decades of friendship.
We travel together; recommend books to each other; share family drama.
She’s got one nephew, once worrisome, who came around.
I’ve got one nephew, once worrisome, who came around.
We laugh, commiserate, discuss music and politics.
Together, we are simply people. Friends.
This, this is that “content of their character” thing MLK was talking about.
This is it.
(dedicated to Jean)
For another poem on friendship with the lovely line “People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime” see Suzie Alexander’s “Friendships.”
