Near White

Ambiguous of race they stand,

By one disowned, scorned of another,

Not knowing where to stretch a hand,

And cry, “My sister” or “My brother.”

Tableau

For Donald Duff

Locked arm in arm they cross the way,

The black boy and the white,

The golden splendor of the day,

The sable pride of night.

From lowered blinds the dark folk stare,
And here the fair folk talk,
Indignant that these two should dare
In unison to walk.

Oblivious to look and word
They pass, and see no wonder
That lightning brilliant as a sword
Should blaze the path of thunder.