Colorblind

Her hair in neat braids, her frock a stainless white Gazing at the wispy clouds that curl against a cerulean sky She approaches the white picket fence and waves hello— It is 1956. “Come and play!” she cries to the other girl. The other girl, whose grass is not as green Who cannot study in the same school And cannot swim in the same pool. They draw the outline in purple chalk, Select the perfect pearly pebble. A toss, a number, a few measured hops And a fit of giggles that fortifies friendship. Will their generation conquer, will it change the world? Will they grow arm in arm, side by side? “Perhaps,” reflects Norma, as she walks briskly past Pounding the pavement to protest a segregated ride. For now, they are colorblind; for now, they are pure Untainted by the conventions of everyday life. But what color is pure? Is it white, black, or gray? If only we were all colorblind.