Читать книгу Stony the Road - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 13

the children in the schoolroom

with old inkwell desks whose eyes

are bigger than curiosity stare at the

neatly pressed white teacher at the front

of the room. they learn to read history

mostly in black and white, while the

deep scars of weaving generations, the

near pulverized first nations, European

land theft, Mexican lynching, yanqui

peasant killing and the politicians who

looked away from black, brown, yellow

and red women raped never appear on a

public book page. the contract historians with

English names, their hard of hearing college

prodigies, never bother to put the bloody

side of colored history in their texts, which

infinitely overflow with grand white stories.

when the children in the class strayed away

from the morning lessons, the teacher

called them back to the lost paradise

text and with not too many words showed

her students how to put on a white mask.

then, one stubborn boy with the habit of

sitting at a desk in the back of the room

yelled, “Teacher, I like it when you call

me, José!”