We Are the Possible

When we release our fingers

From fists of hostility

And allow the pure air to cool our palms …

When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate …

When battlefields and coliseum

No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters

Up with the bruised and bloody grass

To lie in identical plots in foreign soil …

When we come to it

We must confess that we are the possible

We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world

That is when, and only when

We come to it.

— Maya Angelou, “A...