Taylor Hatchet, C’21
Numb Fingers cling to the interior of warm pockets.
A hood covers nearly frost-bitten ears
Eyes watch him closely, examining his every move
Scrutinizing him from every angle
The width of his nose, his ebony kinks, his brown skin
They linger on his skin
Until they conceive an idea of who he is
Murderer, thief, deadbeat father
I stand at a distance watching this unfold
Seeing judgmental eyes clouded with loathing
And I forgive her.
I forgive her for being ignorant of who he is:
A beautiful, sympathetic, intelligent young black man
Still wet behind the ears
Searching for himself
And you, who add onto the problems he is already facing
To the stereotypes he must already surmount
Having the misfortune of being born black and even more so male.
But I forgive you because I will feed into his destiny,
I will push him to be all that he can be
He will not just be another statistic.
Lumped in with the hordes convicted for the sin of the of their color
I forgive you.
Generation 