The Queen’s Gardener Chapter 6: About Me: But Who Really Cares?

July 4, 2020

Continued fromChapter 5

About Me: But Who Really Cares?

This poem is about me. But who really cares?

I’m just


White girl

Devoid of color. Right?

This is what they would have you believe.

Last time I checked,

White orchid on my windowsill






Holy cow! Mysore, India

I am a white-woman-full-of-color!

And not your typical “Decorator white”either. No.

After a good cry.

I have a tint of pink and


I don’t fare so well in the blazing-hot-equatorial-sun.




To immigrants on the Westside of Chicago.

A city street in the village bares my father’s handiwork–a proud “Old World” craftsman he was;

Even I can’t afford to live there now. I hear it’s a nice part of town.

My family came from Eastern Europe

After the war.


You get the idea.

They did their best.

What more do you want?

Who really cares about a poor white girl from nowhere struggling to fit into a bottomless square hole anyway? Adults can be cruel, but some kids are just mean!

You eat weird food and talk funny.”

But, I loved school. And my teachers. And all my colored friends…

Imagine my father’s surprise when

He realized the same people

(and by ‘people’ I mean ‘ideology’)

Who seized my grandfather’s farm and

Burned down my grandmother’s home

Were now the very same people educating me!

They taught me

I would never be:

Man enough.

Good enough.

White enough.

Unless (and no one need say it out loud)

I forgot my family’s language and

My ancestry

They lied.


For a time

I believed them.

What choice did I have besides ‘paper or plastic’?

I had “Good Times”

And wasn’t I lucky?

…After the shooting of the two policemen at Cabrini‐Green, a teen‐age black youth in the project strolled by a slightly older black and, with a grin, said: “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life, a head for a head — and two for Fred.”

It is with the police that ghetto residents have the most frequent and abrasive contacts, but the police have been called on to deal with a situation of staggering social chaos created by poverty and abetted, accord ing to many blacks, by the pol icies of the city’s powerful Democratic political organi zation.

Oh! I could go on, but by now you must be bored of me!

Tell me about you.

Where does your family originate?

What do you ache for

And what haunts your dreams–

Do you dream in color?

Dear Lord, don’t make me ‘color-blind’. Remove my blinders that I may clearly see

All your creation–every color–glorified in You!

May all who have lived and died for freedom be blessed in Your sight.

You and I have something in common,

Don’t we.

Slavery.. I know, they didn’t teach us this in elementary school.

Thank God for Wikipedia and the internet! “Knowledge is power!”

Do you care about me now? Or am I

‘Just-another-white-woman‘ uninteresting to you because you think I lack diversity?

Diversity is deeper than the color of my skin…

I am NZain, The Queen’s Gardener.


Thank you for reading and kind words of support. My heart is filled with joy, gratitude and love even as I struggle with shortness of breath and fatigue. This is no joke! Please take care.

Right wrong or indifferent, this story of “The Queen’s Gardener” is my peaceful protest in light of the darkness unleashed in the world today.

May God show mercy on ALL His children, and give the Devil his due.

May The Queen be pleased.

Happy Birthday, America.

If it’s true, “the pen is mightier than the sword”, then I aim to continue writing…