“We have tomorrow right before us like a flame.”

"My soul has grown deep like the rivers."
When I was in highschool, Miss Rice offered this poem for us to read.  It struck me as a very important poem at that time, and continues to be so.  Since I was living in the States and all of my friends of colour sat separately at the lunch tables….it spoke to something in my heart.  While  I was very naive about issues of race at the time, I knew that ‘things’ were different for Veronica Brown.  Langston Hughes is a powerful writer.
 What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore–
and then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load

Or does it just explode?


Langston Hughes




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