some old Alice Walker

[fflo]

talking to my grandmother
who died poor
(while hearing Richard Nixon declare
"I am not a crook.")

no doubt i will end my life as poor as you
without the wide veranda of your dream
on which to sit and fan myself slowly
without the tall drinks to cool my bored
unthirsty throat.
you will think: Oh, my granddaughter failed
to make something of herself
in the White Man's World!

but i really am not a crook
i am not descended from crooks
my father was not president of anything
and only secretary to the masons
where his dues were a quarter a week
which he did not shirk to pay.

that buys me a new dream
though i may stray
and lust after jewelry
and a small house by the sea:
yet i could give up even lust
in proper times
and open my doors to strangers
or live in one room.
that is the new dream.

in the meantime i hang on
fighting addiction
to the old dream
knowing i must train myself to want
not one bit more
than what i need to keep me alive

working
and recognizing beauty
in your
           so nearly
undefeated face.

-- Alice Walker

(this one x-posted to the poetry group too)
(you who overlap, please bear with me that way)