There’s a faded, torn picture
My grandma lovingly taped
Of the day she stood in front of old Abe
And with thousands of others
Cheered for a dream
A dream full of hope
That we wouldn’t see
The difference in color
Or culture
Or race
But the beauty in people fighting for change
And she’d smile at me
And say “You can’t really see,
But there were so many shades
Of people that day.”
And when she retired
For a nap on the couch
I cradled that memory
Inches from my mouth
But try as I might
(As hard as I could)
I couldn’t see
The shades of black, white, and brown
She promised there’d be.
In the grainy old photograph
With smiles you could feel, not see
All that was present
Were people--
Who shared more than a dream