That’s just what I thought those moments
In a warm mid-autumn twilight would be:
A racist’s nightmare.
The seventh grader, dark and short,
Now in the United States, earlier Veracruz,
Walks home with another seventh grader, light and tall.
Choir practice is over.
They’re selling candy bars for a music trip.
Her Spanish strong, English OK,
His English strong, Spanish OK.
Her vision – teaching.
His – engineering.
The street dips, then rises.
They walk up a knoll.
The school is behind.
At a nearby park, soccer practice –
Eight groups, age selected, kick and run,
And Spanish and English break the fading light.
A teen girl, tall and dark, a goalie,
Tracks down a loose ball, and kicks it high and away,
Long legs, goalie gloves ….
Twilight moves to dark;
The seventh graders must be home by now.
The soccer kids pull off plastic cleats,
Put on sneakers ….
Somewhere, hidden in trees
Must be a racist, even several,
Hating – deep within – those hopeful bursts ….
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, mid-November 2012