In Conversations | By Eric D.

In the heart of Columbia, Maryland

There is a 14 foot Civic Monument

of a tree

with abstract Gold human figures as branches

feet bound to each other as one

One community 

One family 

On the other end of the 

human formed Branches 

their arms are unlocked,

Raised wide open to the sky 

to represent individual growth 

This, my childhood home,

where Groups of teenagers 

looked like a Garden in the Spring

Where Inter-racial relationships 

were as common as dominoes in Cuba

A city blended as the

color of leaves in the fall, 

Intentionally inclusive

Represented by a sculpture

named The People Tree

Now, many years later

in the heart of The Art District 

in the place I now call home- RIchmond, VA

I stand In front of this mural, 

an expression of the

same hope I had as a child 

Two artists 

One white 

One black

Different eyes to the world 

each its own childhood 

Their brushes paint from a different place

but together they painted this multi-colored mural

Purple, Pink, Yellow, 

Orange, blue

Red, Black, Green 

White, and Brown, 

A toy gun was dangerous to one

A lawn dart to the other

One can see himself in the Jetsons

The other notices no one looks like him

One enjoys the dukes of hazzard 

While the other sees an confederate flag 

in conversation they bridged the distance between 

til the last bit of paint dried 

Now two worlds exist on the same wall

As they confronted difficult questions 

Like what is the meaning of the confederate flag on General Lee?

Like damn why are there no black people in the future on the Jetsons ?

Why did that black kid get shot for playing with a toy gun?

In America,

The problem is as old as the 

red, white and blue on the Flag

Leaves of  trees crumbling and falling

Roots dying from generations of ignorance

A world that has been barely tolerant

Even further removed From acceptance

And insurmountable ways from Brotherhood

A world that breaks the roots and 

Poisons the leaves of children’s trees, 

such as it did mine 

When I first left Columba

For a segregated Marine Corps

Now right here, in Richmond

Walls begin to be mended 

to reconcile the past 

And confront the present 

through  conversation

As the more we know each other 

The less we fear,

The less we fear 

the more we feel part of the same tree

A trunk as a base 

Roots strong at the core 

fully developed branches 

With colors of leaves 

as beautiful as the mountains in November

Connected like these two artists on the Wall,

linked by a pink and light blue cloud 

The hope that one day the color of a man’s skin

 is of no more significance than the color of a man’s eyes

Then, each of us has the ability to grow to our greatest self 

This begins with understanding each other through conversation 

So come talk to me 

& Bring me back to the people tree