All the talls in the office were standing around the water cooler, sharing some interestings. The smarts had a meeting with the leaders about the tidys cleaning the desks midday. The funny tall kept making jokes about the lonely stinky, and the talls all laughed because we’re also all observants. The lighthearteds played music while we all worked, and it’s sound was enriching behind the loud buzz of all we represented. The lazy switched the channel to see the beautiful breaking the news story. She handed the interested over to the serious, who was live at the scene. A white had shot a black in Missouri, and the black had died. And then we all looked around, and we weren’t so tall anymore. We weren’t interesting, smart, tidy, funny, observant, or serious. And we certainly weren’t live at the scene. We were just blacks and whites, trapped in a box, like so many crayons. And the music sounded flat, because that was all we heard. And our vibrant colors faded, because that was all we saw.
The caves seem changed now,
harder to traverse.
With the guide near, we felt a sense of confidence.
Stepping onward; trekking with fervor and excitement.
Now we call out for the guide,
but we know she has gone before us and stands above us
in the light.
slipping on wet rock
one less spark to show our way
and one less voice to echo off of the cave walls
“Don’t turn left. It’s all dead ends that way.”
She knows, because she has explored that path,
and come to the end of it.
I recite to those behind me where the steep drops hide
and pray her echoes don’t escape my memory
before I find my way to level ground
and can feel the sun for myself.