The White School towers across the street
holding its head up high as if it didn’t notice
the black school just beneath its feet.
The White Boys walk in lines like snakes,
slithering around corners and crosses
until they all disappear one by one
into the mouth of the school.
I watch as their shadows follow them so eagerly,
happy to walk beneath them,
happy to never raise their voices,
happy to hide or wait outside when the
White Boys want to pretend their
shadows don’t exist.
And when my school day is done
and the sun creeps lower,
the shadows grow longer,
and as the White Boys walk off down the street,
never once glancing at me,
their shadows reach out towards me,
gently gliding over my feet and ankles,
and whisper to me to join them.
And I say I would rather die alone
on the street of oppression
than be a shadow on the street of ignorance.