People like me: a little darker complected,
Slightly wider nose. I go about my business
Trying to do more than survive. But
There is still a dividing line.
A visibly invisible division
That I pretend not to see, for a while.
Or at least I try to shield my eyes
From the voluble bricks being thrown
At my brothers and sisters, by them.
I try to embrace the melting pot until
I see first-hand that the pot is in fact
Melting. I drive home to Indiana after
Dropping my baby girl back at her
Mother’s in Wisconsin. I think about
Her dark lips curled into a smile and
Pray for her safety. I pray for mine
As well. Cruising past neighborhoods
Of every race, I come to Merrillville.
America: the red, white, and blue
Lights of the cop car. “Hello officer.”
“Step out of the car. Put your hands behind
Your back.” Pale-skinned law-upholder.
A few hours of confinement before truth,
But not justice, prevailed. Released on site.
The culprit: same dark skin tone, similar
Name. Guilty until proven innocent. How nice—
Out of their genuine sorrow for my hassle,
they walked me to the prison door. No food.
My car and home nowhere nearby. Only my feet.
—Derrick Rowe ’13