Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

In a town called Creve Coeur lies a park that should have housed a home, that should have been full of black people jocking and jiving, singing or playing trumpets on Sunday afternoons long after a sermon at church. Dr. H. Phillip Venable, would have been sitting outside of his front porch, catching the breeze, as his eyes greet dahlias and lillies blooming in the summer heat. Mrs. Kate Venable would have been inside the house, with a flowering apron tied around her waist as she made collard greens with some golden corn bread, smoked turkey and a peach apple pie. Their home would have been full, with music wafting in the air, children running around the house, laughing as they played hide and seek. But none of this would happen as several decades before, by the power of eminent domain, the town took what never belonged to them. But now, one fine summer afternoon, we watched as children ran up and down, singing and playing in the sun. A heavenly breeze, beautiful oaks, and a perfect playground, stood where the Venables would have built their home. The place needed a house, all right, needed a porch and a kitchen built in love. But the eyes of children will do, ours too, now that we all see what the Venables saw all along.