Poetry

There they stood
These natural things
Effortlessly dancing in the warm breeze
It was then I’d start to plea
I wished it could instead be me
Bursting with curiosity
How’d they done it with ease?

Suddenly
I felt unsettled, unsolved in my small shoes
I wore them knotted and laced tightly for the unknown
Aspiring to plant my roots in the same soil

They stood in three
Giant, stretched above me
Their leaves bright with the suns rays
Their strength ready to take on more days

Purposely
I’d begun watching routinely
Comparing my progress to their perfection
Looking for any mishap, mistake, or infection
Nevertheless, finding nothing in need of correction
To be like them has become my sole obsession

They never droop, wallow, or weep
Steadily reaching up to the heavens
Closer to the divine than I’d ever be
Daily getting higher
Leaves getting brighter
Their mission always complete

“What happens to a dream deferred?”

It became life as I know, Mr. Hughes.

It flew and soared like a bird.

I came to tell you the news.

I’m a credible source.

You and I wear the same shoes.

At times, it was desiccated.

Dry, like Arizona desert sand.

But now it’s hydrated.

A dream blacks did demand.

It used to be a bubbling sore

Or the pain of a deep wound.

But it is stiff, and hard as a floor.

It is bold and fine-tuned.

In the early 1900s blacks could only dream

Of what we now can do.

I know in your time it’d never seem

But I tell you it’s true.

The dream is candied.

I wish you could live now to see

It doesn’t smell like rotten meat.

Oh, how I wish you could see.

Racism still boldly exists.

Some souls still hate us.

But our…