Ann Nixon

It was the day she cried for 24 hours -
not straight but in short fits.
Just like she had lived her life -
in short fits of goodness
and long hours of nothingness.

But there were those things that would make her cry,
cruel words, things that threatened her power
and joy:
the bliss of feeling everything in everything
and this day.

The old woman with barely enough strength to walk
across her old tile,
broken like she was with age.
She got up that morning and, with help to get dressed,
lived the day she had lived for.

It was a day of lemon and cherry colored leaves -
the bright light of the sun;
the fear of losing
- they say only the right come out on rainy days -

but today was the day worth waiting for -
a day worth waiting at least 106 years for.
The bonds of slavery broken
and a day that she stood as tall as any man.

It was like pushing a button and having hope delivered,
it was like dreaming
and waking.

And she cried because, finally,
she couldn't tell the difference
between the two.