by Grace Davisson
I hear Jim still comes around,
painting invisible lines
with his scarlet paintbrush.
I’ve never seen him,
but I’ve walked the streets he lined,
following the intricate strokes that stick to the cement.
Dampened by history,
smelling of vinegar and rotten oil,
the lines separate the
Colors within his painting,
that dry in the southern beating heat
that stirs the country boil.
Hot like Carolina Summers.
Once shaded by old Calhoun trees
with rotten cores and prickly thorns.
They cut them. But the roots,
strong like steel wires, twisted and taut,
stayed hidden and safe underground.
Best to keep them.
Provided a pleasant foundation,
instead the wood was used for schools
built of birch and Calvinist mason.
Predestined to fail,
swans singing at the unveil.
And they come in last,
with expected defeat,
fulfilling their fixed prophecy.
Failing students, not Failures
Failed by a system that hates them.
Suppressed by quiet ammunition.
So how can you ask why
South Carolina is behind in learning,
when one in seven schools are still asserting
Segregation. Where it is formally accepted
that your racial identity
decides your quality of education.
Some schools funded
by the worth of their mansions,
their golden plates melted
into yellow pencils that fashion
The Future for tomorrow
and tomorrow’s actions.
Local funding ensures
to reflect the demographic.
Poor people merit poor schools,
not fit to advantage,
sleeping behind fences,
sitting still in one-story houses.
Eager students await
in classes empty of teachers.
A worthless job it must be
if no one values their work.
Instead substitutes with no degree
talk of particles and quarks.
And printers empty of Paper in
Porcelain schools glazed eggshell white.
School choice left the rest with
second choices and cut kites.
A price they pay for education when
they can’t even afford a child’s daily ration.
But isn’t that just The Southern Charm.
I do not detest my state.
I care enough to see it better.
Sick of its false pretenses
of hospitality that caters
to pale blue resorts with snowy white fences,
that don’t really care to side with our defenses.
Caring so much about building
its highways and hackneyed houses.
I wish they could instead build skyscrapers of
learning based on integration.
State funded school
that warrants equitable chances.
Dum spiro spero
While I breathe, I hope
that South Carolina can protect its mottos
of preparedness in mind and resources.
I breathe hope that they believe in us
and light the fire for our torches.