Copyright 2015 Terri Wainaught
All Rights Reserved
Acknowledgements
To Christie Stratos, my wonderful, very capable and patient editor, whose help transformed my piece from very good to excellent.
Dedication
To my son Glenn Barber and to the memory of all inner-city youths whose lives have been senselessly and violently taken; also to all who mourn and love them.
Their Valley of Tears
With a deafening sound as they pound their way through tension-filled air, bullets belch sulfur, and another Native Son is gone. His life is snuffed out with reckless abandon; even a flickering candle comes to a more caring end.
Another mother surrenders to ragged sobs that catch in her throat and make her body shake like a massive earthquake. Unrelenting tears carve paths of pain as they trail down another ebony, caramel, or coffee-colored face. Heart-wrenching despair continues to tear at the sinews of a troubled soul.
A chorus of voices make spiritual choices to sing about “going to see the King,” but the joyful Hereafter is soon replaced by Earth’s grim realities.
Another community struggles and strives just to survive the reactions and repercussions. With hope and resiliency, they can overcome peacefully. The alternative is anger, flowing like pent-up, volcanic lava.
A judge believes he is right when he writes the opinion that he just can’t say at the end of the day who fired “the fatal shot,” so he doesn’t convict a potential convict.
With the power of a pen, he pierces the hearts of those who seek justice, seeing “just us.” With the power of legal perception, he assaults the sensibilities of people who want decisions to be colored by character and not by skin. With the courage that comes from courtly prestige, he creates invisible men, and it seems not to matter that hopes and dreams and hearts have been shattered.
But maybe one day, we’ll find our way and we’ll come to the T intersection of open minds and right decisions. Then when bullets belch sulfur into the night air, ragged sobs will still moan a mother’s melancholy blues, but those melancholy blues will be easier to bear when collective hearts dare to become eagles’ wings that soar to seek truth, and let caged birds sing.
Terri Winaught’s Bio
Terri Winaught grew up in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; and currently live in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Blind since birth, she attended the Overbrook School for the Blind where her love of writing began when she was only 11.
Terri received a Bachelors Degree in Secondary Education from Duquesne University with a teaching certificate in Social Studies, and a Masters Degree in Education, also from Duquesne University, with an emphasis in counseling.
As a writer, Terri edits a monthly newsletter for a Pittsburgh-based nonprofit; she also edits a bimonthly magazine; and has been published in a variety of magazines.
Terri am so passionate about disability and Civil Rights issues that some people say, “Oh, no! Here she goes again!” Terri takes that, not as an insult, but as a directive to keep using the power of words to make my readers think, question, wonder and reflect.
The Amulet
Paul White
Copyright 2015 Paul White
All Rights Reserved