Dear Ones, I must tell you, last night I dreamed they
(I could not distinguish their features, only their tragic countenances)
gathered up everyone who isn’t white,
bringing them all together like cattle,
and somehow they forgot me.
I said, Don’t you see how dark I am, and how strange?
And as can happen in dreams, I made myself darker,
and I spoke a hundred customs and languages at once.
(I may have been a flower, but who can be sure?)
They (I still could not see who they were)
laughed. And smiled.
And I pounded at their gates. Was I to be condemned to their heaven?
No, I cried — not if I am awake!