A Lesson In Dignity

Something of a memory

She was the first black woman I ever met.
Having reached her door in tears,
from being bullied the long walk
home from school, she held my hand
as though it were her own, and
ignoring the taunts of my tormenters
led me to my doorstep. Her skin was not
at all as I had been told and so imagined,
and there was no stench about her.
She simply smelled of being.
She released my hand and looking down at
me my body straightend at what I saw in
her eyes. I was left with a dignity I've
rarely felt since. I was ten years old.
She was the first black woman I ever knew.