III. Hattie Cotton Elementary School is Bombed Poetry by Edina Manley Poetry by Trinity Young

Hattie Cotton Elementary School is Bombed

September 10, 1957: At approximately 12:30 a.m., a dynamite blast destroys the east wing of Hattie Cotton School in East Nashville.

Thin Walls

by Edina Manley

A tale of a young black child who looked forward to fighting for his education at Hattie Cotton elementary every day. They keep calling me I can hear them calling But it’s not my Name So I don’t answer to it. I know it’s a call for me though, I can hear it in their raging voices. Vicious, volatile villains It’s not nice things they say, Makes me feel unwanted I know I belong here, I know it. Mama ain’t raise no quitter So I will continue to listen The names, the threats This will be music to my ears, Everyday on my way to school, I can get use to this. More mean words to hear tomorrow. Or maybe not. And just like that. No more mean words. No nothing. Just thin walls.

Linda McKinley and Charles Elbert Ridley were the only firstgraders at Fehr Elementary School in North Nashville on the day after the bombing of Hattie Cotton Elementary School. Photo by Bill Goodman. Nashville Banner Archives, Nashville Public Library, Special Collections.Courtesy of We Shall Overcome: Press Photographs of Nashville in the Civil Rights Era.

Poet’s Note: I tried to put myself into the position of an innocent black child on their way to school and then thought about the reaction of the child after the bombing. The disappointment must have been very present in every child’s heart.

It Was Just a Dream

by Trinity Young

“Racism is still with us. But it is up to us to prepare our children for what they have to meet, and, hopefully, we shall overcome.” - Rosa Parks As a mother, I desire the best for my child, Belly full of food, head full of knowledge, and a face crinkled with a smile, Their kids get it, so should mine.

Never would I have taken the steps if I knew it was over that line, the line that enables someone to burn and erupt with such malice, holding so tight to their hatred, hands callused.

Now, I must sit my little girl down, Tell her how this town doesn’t want her.

Reassuring her not because she doesn’t shine with beauty, Not because she’s not just as smart, Not because she lacks the worthiness, Reassuring her she’s just as precious as ancient art.

I must explain to her how she can’t go to school, Because last night it went up in flames, Blown to pieces the size of her innocent little hands, Her beautiful brown skin to blame. Registration day at Glenn Elementary School, Nashville, TN, August 1957. © I must tell her that it wasn’t just a dream, Nashville Public Library.Courtesy of That the thunderous boom, the rattling of our house SouthernSpaces.org. was all real and everything that happened was exactly as it seemed.

Worst of all, I must tell her that this won’t be the last time. It won’t be the last time people show their true colors of colorism, It won’t be the last time she has to face darkness, but still, gleam. If only it was just a dream.

Poet’s Note: I wanted to tell a story from the point of view of a mother because I can only imagine the pain it causes to try to explain such an extreme act of hatred. How can you explain to a child that the color of their skin can lead someone to do something so bad?