Civil Riots Memories of Another...a poem I wrote for an assignment back in 2010

This was written for an assignment, "Black History Month Poems".

In this poem I wrote about the civil riots, as remember by someone who lived through these times.
This was inspired by some of the things that my mother had told me, as she grew up during the racial riots in Cincinnati, Ohio, that was a very difficult time for many people.

http://voices.yahoo.com/civil-riots-memories-another-5364063.html?cat=7 Civil Riots Memories of Another Running through the streets, Guards at the doors, Searching me as I enter my school, Merging all races together, Riots in the streets, I am running fighting my way, Klan's men burning crosses, Terror in the day, terror follows me to school. Policemen walk the halls; I flee to the streets, Growing up in Cincinnati, inner city child Alcoholic parents, siblings in street gangs, I sit on the side walk, Calm unknown, uncertainty sure, blood stains line every street. Riots, fighting, death walking near my side- Coconut flakes sold by the cup, My sister climbs out a window, runs far away, A bus I board headed south, home to Mississippi, Quitting school, I flee the riots in the streets, From the cotton fields, to my grandparent's home in North Carolina I go... Hidden away in the mountains, far from the riots in the city streets, Watching the time of the civil riots through another's eyes, Seeing my children ride on buses unconcerned, of another's race, Watching as another sister of mine hugs a mixed race grandchild. Looking out my window, I see the riots have ended. Yesterday, I walked in fear. Today, I walk through once segregated halls, now accustomed to seeing a race that has merged. Tomorrow, my children will have forgotten, my terrors. Once I slept with a gun nearby, knowing I must be at the ready. Today, I see another as a person, not a color; yesterday I saw only darkness, Tomorrow, nightmares of race will end. Civil riots, terrors, of Klan's men, gangs of color assaulting me Police men searching for weapons, as we go in, again as we come out. Memories of another, told to me, reflected back to you in this poem...