By Samantha Terrell (Rated G)
When I was a girl, in small-town America,
There was a street called Parallel,
Where we Protestants ran alongside the
Catholics – an historical microcosm of
Our ancestral nations.
I don’t know what that street paralleled, exactly.
But we were wood grains
Paralleling each other,
Threatening to touch now and then,
Moving in the same direction,
Serving the same power,
Striving for the same life and growth.
Today our trees are “bright copy paper”
Filled with printer test page ink –
Stripes of vibrancy, still running alongside each other
With other shades, too – complementary colors
Each with our own purpose.
Let’s trust that we parallel something bigger than ourselves.