Behind the Sole

Days ago, in the realm of sleep I stepped into another man's shoes. When I walked out of them, from the dream I woke weeping. These shoes were on the feet of a black youth of sixteen years. I saw through his eyes, and Jim Crow still ruled the day. I saw color through his eyes, not the black and white of the screens. I saw a restaurant filled with laughter, a family of smiles and of love. I saw a boy with not much schooling, trying to learn how to write a sign. I saw the mood shift through his eyes, when brutes walked in with hate in theirs. I saw, through his eyes now tearing, black and white - yelling and screaming. I saw the struggle to keep writing, as slurs fell like the blows that followed. I saw not what his hands were weaving, while focused on pale beasts posing as men. Not 'til he shakingly held up his work, and I saw his eyes land on his words. "Those men won't let me speak, because my words might heal." I stepped into another man's shoes days ago, in the realm of sleep. I know not the cobbler, nor the sender, but from the message I woke weeping.