the door (feb. contest)

the bus came to a merry standstill. the merry was inside us;
young and vibrant schoolboys on our way back home.
the bus came to a startling halt inside me
as i look for our house in the, now unfamiliar surroundings.

standing on our land was the remnants of a house,
the remnants of a life... of our dreams
i felt unmerry and dry... older than minutes before.
i was looking for the door I used to run through as a little boy.

i looked up as my father's Willys pulled up beside me.
he knew that i would go look for them back home
he was minutes too late to spare me the brunt
of a system that did not care a damn.

he looked strange at first. maybe i could not picture him
anywhere else, but in Kousas... our home.
after a while i actualized that the tall man
in the Willys was my father.

we entered a house though a steel door in a farther away township
we entered through a new door... a door to submissiveness
which we never entertained. but we grew up
and never lost our identity to white supremacy.