Honey

It was cathartic to write it down and begin the healing process.

————

Honey

—a sweet-sounding name for a vile person.

Born in 1912 and never married she lived in a railroad apartment with her roommate Helen a woman she met at work. Her two favorite past-times: playing pinochle and making racist judgments —for every race.

In that way, she didn’t discriminate

—she thought all were beneath her. Each Sunday, she stood with her xenophobic mouth wide open, the same mouth that spewed hatred all week ready to receive the holiest of sacraments —how pious she was on that day. She was a black mark on my ancestral history —a lineage skeleton, hidden but not forgotten.

I feared speaking up, she was the family matriarch

—and for that, I repent.

Exposing her shameful behavior — my first step toward reconciliation.

By Laura Daniels

From: United States

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