Free Horses Make a Landscape Look More Beautiful by Alice Walker Page B

Color
    Tra-la-la
    The world is full of colored
    people
    Tra-la-la-la-la.
    Their skins are pink and yellow
    and brown
    All colored people
    People of Color
    Colored people
    Tra-la-la.
    Some have full lips
    Some have thin
    Full of colored people
    People of Color
    Colored lips
    Tra-la-la.
    The world is full of
    colored people
    People of Color
    Colorful people
    Tra-la-la!

THESE DAYS
Some words for people I think of as friends.
    These days I think of Belvie
    swimming happily in the country pond
    coating her face with its mud.
    She says:
    “We could put the whole bottom of this pond in jars
    and sell it to the folks
    in the city!”
    Lying in the sun she dreams
    of making our fortune, à la Helena Rubenstein.
    Bottling the murky water
    too smelly to drink,
    offering exotic mud facials and mineral baths
    at exorbitant fees.
    But mostly she lies in the sun
    dreaming of water, sun and the earth
    itself—
    Surely the earth can be saved for Belvie.
    These days I think of Robert
    folding his child’s tiny shirts
    consuming TV dinners (“A kind of processed flavor”)
    rushing off each morning to school—then to the office,
    the supermarket, the inevitable meeting: writing,
    speaking, marching against oppression, hunger,
    ignorance.
    And in between having a love affair
    with tiny wildflowers and gigantic
    rocks.
    “Look at this one!” he cries,
    as a small purple face
    raises its blue eye to the sun.
    “Wow, look at that one!” he says,
    as we pass a large rock
    reclining beside the road.
    He is the man with child
    the new old man.
    Brushing hair, checking hands, nails
    and teeth.
    A sick child finds comfort
    lying on his chest all night
    as do I.
    Surely the earth can be saved for Robert.
    These days I think of Elena.
    In the summers, for years, she camps
    beside the Northern rivers
    sometimes with her children
    sometimes with women friends
    from “way, way back.”
    She is never too busy to want at least
    to join a demonstration
    or to long to sit
    beside
    a river.
    “I will not think less of you
    if you do not attend this meeting,” she says,
    making us compañeras for life.
    Surely the earth can be saved for Elena.
    These days I think of Susan;
    so many of her people lost
    in the Holocaust. Every time I see her
    I can’t believe it.
    “You have to have some of my cosmos seeds!”
    she says
    over the phone. “The blooms
    are glorious!”
    Whenever we are together
    we eat a lot.
    If I am at her house
    it is bacon, boiled potatoes,
    coffee and broiled fish:
    if she is at my house it is
    oyster stew, clams, artichokes
    and wine.
    Our dream is for time in which
    to walk miles together, a couple
    of weeds stuck between our teeth,
    comfy in our yogi pants
    discoursing on Woolf
    and child raising,
    essay writing and gardening.
    Susan makes me happy
    because she exists.
    Surely the earth can be saved for Susan.
    These days I think of Sheila.
    “‘Sheila’ is already a spiritual name,” she says.
    And “Try meditation and jogging both.”
    When we are together we talk
    and talk
    about The Spirit.
    About What is Good and What is Not.
    There was a time she applauded my anger,
    now she feels it is something I should outgrow.
    “It is not a useful emotion,” she says. “And besides,
    if you think about it, there’s nothing worth
    getting angry about.”
    “I do not like anger,” I say.
    “It raises my blood pressure.
    I do not like violence. So much has been done to me.
    But having embraced my complete being
    I find anger
    and the capacity for violence
    within me.
    Control
    rather than eradication
    is about the best
    I feel I can do.
    Besides, they intend to murder us,
    you know.”
    “Yes, I understand,” she says.
    “But try meditation
    and jogging both ;
    you’ll be surprised how calm you feel.”
    I meditate, walk briskly, and take deep, deep breaths
    for I know the importance of peace to the inner self.
    When I talk to Sheila
    I am forced to honor
    my own ideals.
    Surely the earth can be saved for Sheila.
    These