Tonight I tell Mama and Papa
what happened in history.
“It’s true, right?” I ask.
Mama picks up her plate and takes it to the sink.
“Mama, right?” I repeat, in case
she didn’t hear me the first time.
“What is past is past,” she says,
her back still to us. “We need to forget
and do our best now.”
Papa has been watching her back
and now turns to me. “I agree with Mama
to a point. We can’t dwell on what happened
but we need to remember
so we don’t do it again.
It is our history,
but we don’t want it be our future.”
That is why I’ve decided
that even after I hand in my journal to Mr. Pease
in June, I’ll keep writing in it.
I don’t want to forget,
and I don’t want someone else
to tell a different story about me.