In Our Marrow by Gonzaga College High School

In Our Marrow Gonzaga Poets Respond to the Call for Racial Justice Spring 2022

Introduction After working diligently to complete Who is Really Free, a collection of poems to express the frustration which tore at the hearts of Gonzaga’s poets, the Poets & Writers community felt compelled to author a successor collection. With many new poets and some returning stars, In Our Marrow details racism from both a macro and micro perspective. In addition, In Our Marrow contains stories of racism across the globe and throughout time, stretching from Tulsa, Oklahoma, to the streets of Japan, and from the breach of the White Lion on American shores in 1619, to Ruby Bridges’ breach of the public school racial barrier in 1960. The title of this collection--“in our marrow”--comes from Kadari Machen’s poem Dig Deeper, and while it is only mentioned in one poem, it is a lens into what really is “in our marrow.” There’s pain and sadness, as Richard Scott shows us in Well-Oiled Machine. There’s anger and frustration, shown by Gav Bryson in Shades and Bobby Dingell in Inconsistency. But through all this there’s resilience, there's tenacity, and there’s an unrelenting fighting spirit nurtured by those who seek to destroy it. Each poem reveals this spirit in its own way, some boldly, like Noah Moody in Inheritance, and some subtly, like Eric Anders in American History. Our heartfelt thanks go to Kai Jones, ‘25, whose beautiful cover artwork captures the spirit of “In Our Marrow” through color and image. We hope every work in this collection will tell you what is in our marrow. Jack Ryan ‘22

Dedication

Knowing someone’s name changes everything. That is precisely what happened when we read Gabriel’s name on a Washington Seminary financial ledger, dated April 22, 1822. Here was a child, a boy, an enslaved human, whose name echoed angels. To say the least, knowing his name moved us. We began to imagine his face, his hands, his feelings. Who did he love? What made him smile? What did he fear? Who was Gabriel? We know Gabriel worked at the Washington Seminary and later at Georgetown College. We know for a brief moment, Gabriel had a chance to purchase his freedom. We also know that moment was taken away at his owner’s death and he was sold by the Jesuits at Georgetown to representatives of Franklin and Armfield, the country’s largest domestic slave trading firm. We know he languished in a slave pen in Alexandria, Virginia, before being sold to New Orleans on a ship named United States. We know when he landed in New Orleans, he was valued at $700. From there, we know nothing more of him. We hope his life didn’t end in terror and sorrow. But like so many enslaved people’s lives, it probably did. We cannot offer Gabriel anything to make up for his suffering. Washington Seminary, the predecessor of Gonzaga College High School, used him for his labor. Those with authority did not use their authority for his good. We wish we could change that. But we cannot. Therefore, two hundred years later, mindful of the weakness of this act, we say his name here, in print, with honor. We dedicate this book, these poems, to Gabriel.

Table of Contents Dig Deeper by Kadari Machen ‘22

If Sally Hemings was the Mother of America by Jack Ryan ‘22

Rest by Dr. Harry Rissetto ‘89

A Mother’s Son by Myles Johnson ‘23

Shades by Gav Bryson ‘22

Corner Store by Markeith Hogan ‘23

My Perspective and Theirs by Lonnie McAllister ‘25

Seventeen Too by Kadari Machen ‘22

When a White Student Spits on a Black Student by Mr. Joseph Ross

Dreams to Reality by Gav Bryson ‘22 and Jon Rogers ‘22

Inconsistency by Bobby Dingell ‘22

Well-Oiled Machine by Richard Scott ‘23

Inheritance by Noah Moody ‘23

American History by Eric Anders ‘22

Today by Joseph Hammond, Jr. ‘22

Dig Deeper by Kadari Machen ‘22 Why do we still study this stuff? And why do we need a whole month, wouldn’t one day be enough? We say we’re open to growth but are we really willing to dig deeper? What is black history? Do we start with slavery or racism? No, Dig Deeper Black history is a story of achievement hidden by suffering Dig deeper Mansa Musa, African, the wealthiest man ever But he was black so he’ll never be as well-known as Rockefeller. Dig deeper A story of prosperity concealed behind a veil of agony Tulsa 1921, Black Wall Street burned to the ground, Part of a master plan, To make sure people don’t see black history firsthand Dig deeper A system, socially constructed To raise one group up And leave another in a ugly cycle, corrupted. Dig deeper Forced into ghettos, The chance of good education was narrow, Adversity builds strength, it's in our marrow. Dig deeper

Ruby Bridges The first to integrate schools, Six-years old, Needed guards to protect her for simply trying to break a mold If she was strong enough to go through it, to endure the insults and isolation, Surely we are strong enough to learn about it, to talk about it, to see that part of our nation. Dig deeper Jim Crow? Oh but that was 60 years ago, Yet we’re still fighting to get our voting rights protected And to ensure our right to protest is respected. Black history month is needed, So that we don’t relive the past, So that the progress we’ve made will finally last. Ignorance is a disease, So when it comes to black history, don’t be a sleeper Ignorance is a disease. Don’t be afraid to dig deeper.

If Sally Hemings was the Mother of America by Jack Ryan ‘22 if Sally Hemings was the mother of America, men would not stand alone in the Declaration, but joined by two freeing words and women whose lives toiled Monticello’s dirt casket could sit behind that sunrise in the golden chair and tap a velvet glove atop that brown Resolute. if Sally Hemings was the mother of America, that dream deferred was answered as the White Lion sailed away and teenagers in Mississippi walked home with bubble gum in their mouths and a whistle in their pockets. little boys in Cleveland played with toys on playgrounds and white men worshiped that cross beneath their collar without hammering the nails into his brown palms.

Rest by Dr. Harry Rissetto ‘89, Department of Religion November is a thin space Where ancestors hear us And are heard More clearly When they speak What do they say? What counsel offered? What solace proffered? Where they stand now Hands are unbound There are no bridges to cross No cruciform lanterns burning the night sky Breathing is easy Sleeping free Kneeling is only for prayer

A Mother’s Son by Myles Johnson ‘23 A Mother’s Son, destined to attack the day he faces many trials because of his tone but chooses to break away MORE than a rapper or a baller, he is a son who dreams of a world where he can live to be true ,without the spreading disease of racism. A Mother’s Son who can only dream that people are truly treated equally regardless of their skin. A Mother’s Son who prays 4 love. who’s voice cries out for change and begs for a better world A Mother’s Son whose daily mission is to survive who fears his worth isn’t the same as the next man that bows his head and closes his eyes. A Mother’s son who sees the evil in his world but fears the blue and red who's supposed to protect him. A Son who hit his knees to pray, praying he can live and not leave his mother for another day.

Shades by Gav Bryson ‘22 I hate colors Everyone sees them differently some see them the same I hate colors my favorite is gray it represents balance…..but it’s the opposite where i live i hate colors our gray is broken up into shades The light shade is the higher ups who possess the power, the rule makers ...the life takers the darker one jumps high, runs fast, and works twice as hard to get by I hate colors Late at night I cry I hate colors Let me tell you of a shade of gray no one thinks of It had a knife but no intentions to kill Was Stopped in his tracks by a lighter shade Why’d you pull me over sir? I live in a dangerous area simply wanting to protect myself Next thing it knew it was in the back of a van with bumps and bruises Maybe because It had a knife? Or Was it because of the contrast of the shade?? There’s 50 shades of gray this is shade was freddie i pray to God the light shade doesn’t take me before i’m ready I Hate colors

Corner Store by Markeith Hogan ‘23 Somewhere in the overloaded streets of Japan on a humid summer day lies a corner store, a seven-eleven in walks an exotic, maybe on vacation or perhaps lives nearby but he does not appear like a traditional Japanese man the complete opposite, unforgettably he walks the aisles row by row the clerk glares at him, Tension rises maybe it was the shade of his skin perhaps his sheer size, the counterfeit smile twisted into an assumption. because he looked black, because he looked American to the clerk, surely this foreign man only speaks English, to the clerk, he only speaks danger. With a forged welcome “Good morning” “How can I help you” his counterfeit smile, maybe it was fear talking Or perhaps instinct “Are you buying anything or just looking?” disapproval bombs the store Why am I, A black man, on Japanese ground, targeted like a terrorist?

Why do I, a bilingual human feel the unwelcomed ambush in my mother's land? maybe that’s just how it goes or perhaps that’s how it shouldn’t.

My Perspective and Theirs by Lonnie McAllister ‘25 In my mind I’m peaceful and warm However, The world sees me As cold and dangerous Just because of the melanin in my skin They don’t know me But somehow They see through me I wish the world’s mind Wasn’t so constricted I want people to know Me The real me But when they assume Who I am They think of the absolute worst Not giving me a chance Casting me off Like a toddler does a broken toy

Seventeen Too by Kadari Machen ‘22 What would I get if I shot three and killed two? Maybe a cell, twenty years, probably a shot to the head for acting like a fool. With an AR-15, how would I be met? I can’t even walk around in a hoodie without being seen as a threat. Me walking to a protest with an assault rifle, you could only pray that I stay alive, You see, when you look like me, that’s called suicide. But even if I made it out, surely the courtroom would be my demise. Would the judge say the people I killed weren’t victims? Wouldn’t everyone speak up and contradict him? I’m seventeen too but no doubt they’d see me as a grown man. I know they wouldn’t sympathize if I dared to cry on the stand. If I had pulled the trigger, would strangers send me millions for my defense plan? I think instead they would see my actions as a capital offense to reprimand. Would congressmen offer me internships while still on trial? If I killed two, would I be seen as a hero, like Kyle? Will there be change or will these stories continue to compile? Two steps forward and then we seem to go backwards two hundred miles.

When a White Student Spits on a Black Student by Joseph Ross, Department of English When a white student spits on a black student the words of your dangerous language speak clearly: You mean nothing. The suck of cheek into tongue to gather your mouth’s fluid translates into: I have no words for how you scare me so I have to fling this wet warning into your face which today looks just like the face of my own fear. This fluid is your vocabulary for panic: I cannot stand what you mean in my mind so I can only expel my saliva on you from a tongue that seeps sickness. Spit is a dictionary where, if we look up hatred, we see a video of you, doing this. Your wet greeting does teach us, though. It tells us something we need to know about this country

you think is yours. It also tells us just what we need to know about you.

Dreams to Reality by Gav Bryson ‘22 and Jon Rogers ‘22 I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal - Martin Luther King, 1963 Living through a world where things never change, In a world where a voice like mine is never heard, screaming and crying for equality but you can't hear me? begging for your attention like an infant but you ignore me And the crazy thing is Martin Luther King's had a dream, that all men could be equal But dreams are dreams for a reason a series of thoughts in a sleepin’ mind But when you wake up…the dream is over… This dream can be your reality if you make equality your religion You hear what i'm saying but it goes in one ear and out the other like a lecture But listen to these words, they will grab YOUR ears We often try to find the right time to speak up When is it convenient I'm tired of hearing that I'm tired of waiting The time for change is now And if you’re not willing to speak up with us Don’t try to be like us All these school values Men for Others The Golden rule Are all said in vain We are not the school we claim to be But through work we can be the school we ought to be And make this dream a reality

Inconsistency by Bobby Dingell ‘22 In the words of our 45th President: To the “Thugs, Looters, Angry Mobs,” Frustrated with a system that neglects them Broken windows that don't reflect them A system of Law and Order Which judges on complexion Rather than correction The Good News tells us a brighter day is upon them where Justice will be felt by all of them and their flames will one day shine upon each and every true Gem To those People: “We love you, You are very special, We don’t know how you feel”

Well-Oiled Machine by Richard Scott ‘23 A well-oiled machine to some An inefficient structure to others Their unjust creations have made most numb And saved the fluctuant future of yet another Tears of remorse from a teen mask his regret Yet the world continued to assist him But two deaths and not guilty can only attest To the founders and creators of this system In Brunswick Georgia, it took two years for the best attempt at justice But the machine continues to perfectly function And we point fingers inaccurately when the flawed system confronts us But we should place the blame on the start of the system’s construction The machine itself has never failed and is flawless Blueprinted to tear down certain groups and uplift others A blueprint that forces us to be cautious Unfortunately an inefficient structure that relates directly to colors The inefficiency is clear when perceived through a different eye This system works well for those it was founded by And after I stopped looking at the lines and began reading in between I realized that people who look like me were never supposed to reap the benefits of this machine

Inheritance by Noah Moody ‘22 Chains on my body and feet but no chains on my thoughts. My will is to be free not beat or mistreat. As my body may wither this will is indomitable. My mind shall not diminish because change is on the horizon and I say with great merit it is you that has facilitated the will we inherit, not of the body but of the mind. Because this will is a strength not even slavery could survive.

American History by Eric Anders ‘22 the chilling bones of the black bodies slaughtered at the hands of the Confederates whisper from the abyss of the fear i face. the melting palms of my hands bleed angst as i pull over, roll down the portal of doom, and smell the angel of anguish who says the words: "License and registration.”

Today by Joseph Hammond, Jr. ‘22 A Dream. Thoughts of a peaceful world. At least that is what Dr. King had hopes of. Today’s world though, far from it. People of my skin color gamble with life, every single time, We leave their house. All is good though, right? Because we can sit where we want on the bus? Because I can eat whilst being surrounded by people who don’t wear the same skin as me? Because I don’t have to walk an extra mile to use a bathroom designated to people like me? Equality, right? No. Why do we, Have to suffer? Did Kaepernick take a knee just so Chauvin could put one into the neck of George Floyd? Did we run for years just so Ahmaud Arbery could be chased down? Is this what equality is to you? I hope not. Then again, we have been hoping for years.

Gratitude

It takes many hands for a book like this to come to life. We are grateful to Dr. Stephen Szolosi, whose idea of a SLAM Racism Poetry Reading two years ago began the effort, of which this book is the second volume. We are grateful to Dr. Harry Rissetto of the Religion Department who suggested we compile the poems from the second SLAM Racism Poetry Reading into a book. He also saw Kai Jones drawing one day and suggested we had a terrific artist in our midst. We are also grateful to Mr. Ed Donnellan of the Social Studies Department for all his work on the Slavery Research Project and for making sure our historical references are accurate. We are grateful to Ms. Shannon Berry, whose wise and timely counsel helps all our poets. We are deeply grateful to the poets whose words fill these pages. They find words for what matters. Finally, we are grateful to you, reader. Thank you for picking up this book, reading it, sharing it, and taking time with these words.