Today, I am sixty.
An old woman
With knees that creak
And knobby fingers that
Scarcely want to bend.
Why do you fear me?
I have lived an ordinary life.
An unnoteworthy life.
A normal life of high school,
College, marriage, job, kids.
It left yours untouched.
So why do you fear me?
I had never been to the South,
Until I was grown because of
What your fear would drive you to
If you saw us, stopped us, saw what we were,
And were afraid.
You have always been there
Coddling your fear-made hate.
Often in blessed silence,
But not isolated, and never alone,
Waiting, for someone to nurture your fear
rather than help you move past it.
Sometimes, you confronted me.
You broke my windows,
Refused to report a crime against me,
Called me an abomination,
Screamed obscenities from your pickup
In my small town, as I walked home from work.
But still, I don’t understand,
Why do you fear me?
Today, I am sixty.
I’ve made more mistakes
Than I can count on both hands
And probably even my feet.
I am only human, just like you.
So why do you fear me?
The day I was born,
An inauguration took place,
Anointing leaders who called on us
To do more than we could,
To be better than we were.
And together, we did it.
Today, I am Sixty
And for the first time,
An inaugurant looks like me.
Making the inconceivable possible.
“You can become whatever you set your mind to,”
Took a step toward truth
For those without the privilege.
Making us better than we were.
Today I am Sixty,
And not afraid of being better.
Are you?