At the dance
we garnered glares
from white boys, black girls
as the mirrored ball distorted
everyone’s color.
When we kissed,
the fullness of your mouth
was a surprise to mine
(the exoticism of race).
Since we sensed
our connection was taboo,
we would retreat to the movies
(ticket taker’s tariff of a stare)
and sink
into the receiving arms
of the slightly rocking chairs.
The dark claimed us for a couple hours
before we would emerge vulnerably into the daze-bright day.
When I think of you now
I wonder at how we were unaware
of the Greensboro massacre.
How we thought
white sheets suggested only love.

by Kimberly L. Becker

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