By Cruz Villarreal

Frosted windows, Christmas carols, and children all nestled snug in their beds, while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads—but me, I never celebrated Christmas as a child. I’m not sure I really celebrate it now. I have no colorful tree or neatly wrapped gifts nestled beneath green boughs. However, I am keenly aware of its significance, cordial on the subject, and enamored with a season that centers on giving. Yet, confused over the controversy it seems to generate between those that lay sole claim to its meaning, and those like me who meld it into something of their own choosing, but there was a time, when it didn’t matter at all.   

Then migrant life brought me to Michigan, and I entered school. Besides learning my ABCs and tying my tattered shoes, I was introduced to Christmas and the gift giving Santa. The introduction was more of an immersion into a world of school holidays, but the holiday that stood out the most was Christmas.    

By Madeline McConico

1. It starts off small. Like, racism is bad. Noticing your mom has darker skin. Grateful you don’t. It starts with washing your face. Scrubbing, scrubbing, as you think of your dad saying, shug, you’ve got to keep your face clean because you’ve got brown skin. It starts with locking the door in the morning, using soap so your eyes sting, rubbing the filth away.

2. It sounds like her deep breathing. Sarah, the pastor’s daughter sits next to you and breathes so you have to notice. She asks you how you deal with it. The racism, the prejudice. There are these boys in my hall, and they keep calling me white girl. I hate it, she told you. You don’t understand why she feels you are an expert in her pain. You feel an aching warmth in your stomach. Your head hurts. You tell Sarah to pray about it. It’s still small. Racism. But now it’s small and it breathes. Makes it harder for you to—

Lyrics By Paul R. Abramson

chorus (spoken word)

not sure if i made it clear
i don’t suffer fools gladly
forgive this intrusion, if ya can
an’ try hard - not to fight me

verse (spoken word)

yeah, sang that song each morning
right after the lord’s prayer
land of the free, home of the brave
can’t believe i was so unaware

the blistering whip, and the noose
people hanging from trees
how much worse can it get?
from a country claims to be free

By Bud Sturguess

I captained 83 feet of the Clotilda

I drew 13 stars on the Stainless Banner

I put a chain on Emmett's body

(I call him Emmett – I know him well enough)

I did all these things

when I grew silent

300 pounds of rust

bathed in the glow

of the 6 o'clock news