The Vines

The land was barren,

the sky was black

those dark eyes pondered

whether I would turn my back

and trod on that hopeless dust

of broken homes and cracked streets

back to where my lighter eyes could gaze

on a lighter sky

and on land that bears fruit.

I felt a familiar ache behind my eyes that day

When a little boy named Lamar,

curiosity beaming from the darkness of his,

looked up and asked,

“Are you my dad?”

And I paused.

You see, throughout the year, I had been transfixed by these dark eyes

Dangling from vines everywhere I least expected in my classroom,

and in my mind.

His eyes, like fruit in this otherwise barren land,

begging for a hand

to guide them towards where there is sun.

So when Lamar looked up and asked,

curiosity beaming from his dark eyes,

“Are you my dad?”

I knew his inquiry was more of a plea than a question.

He asked, “are you my dad?”

But he thought, “Do you really have my back?”

He pled “are you going to protect me, take care of me, help me?”

But he asked, “are you my dad?”

And so I paused,

looking to see where the land may not be so barren

and the sky, not so dark.

“No I am not, Lamar,” I said finally, “Now, get inside and start your work,”

and, of course, that is not what Lamar did,

because he knew that this is, of course, not what I meant to say.

If his question was really a plea,

Then I had been asking questions,

excuse me,

pleading for years.

And so I knew just what Lamar meant when he looked at me,

curiosity beaming from his dark eyes,

and asked, “Are you my dad?”

For when I had inquired about an opportunity to help others as a teacher,

I was pleading for an opportunity to get better,

pleading for a more meaningful life

because I guess I, too, needed help

to escape the barren land of selfishness

I had long inhabited.

And so Lamar asked,

curiosity beaming from his dark, rich eyes

“Are you my dad?”

And I said, “No.”

And I asked, “how could I be your father, Lamar, when I am white and you are black?”

But I thought secretly, pleadingly,

“Are you mine?”

And I gazed down at those dark eyes,

dangling from fertile vines.

The eyes of a boy who wanted so badly to misbehave but chose otherwise.

who wanted so badly to be wise

But needed, far more pressingly, to be street wise

if he was going to survive

in this barren land draped by this dark sky.

“Now get inside and start your work,” I said,

discerning the outlines of a smile just starting to spread

and for a moment he looked straight ahead

towards where a brighter horizon might just have been.