He slows his pace to meet her grace
He carefully listens to her truths
As he punctuates them with his facts
He looks down into her face
And sees his own reflection
And is satisfied
While shopping the other day, I saw a beautiful black couple, slowly walking up and down the aisles of the store as they pick and chose their items.
“Baby, how much is THAT one?”
“Well momma, THAT one is $1.79”
“Well how much is the OTHER one?”
“They’re the same, momma, this one is $1.79 too”.
As I moved through the aisle, I crossed their path and was able to pick up on a snippet of the conversation they were having. I thought they were as beautiful as a work of art; more beautiful even than the art created by my favorite artists. The couple was a moving picture of profound black beauty.
“Which one do you want, momma?”
“Well, baby, I prefer this one right here, because it’s the best one.”
“O.K., let’s put that one in the basket.”
Then they passed me by, unaware of how intently I was observing them. So I continued to shop until I meet them again in the next aisle. This time, I stole a glance at her. She had a beautiful face, slightly sagging and slightly darkened in the hollows of her cheeks, yet still smooth; the handiwork of Time. I passed them and continued to shop.
In the next aisle, I stole a glance at him and saw her face again; this time young, firm, unwrinkled, yet serene and patient. I went pass them again and continued to shop. As I made my way around to meet them for the last time, I watched as he very slowly, lovingly and patiently spent his time with his grandma, possibly his great grandma; helping her shop, being her eyes for the small print, the ears for her voice, being her comfort and companion, being her protection and backup–meeting her at her speed, slowing down his youthful vigor to meet her fragile wisdom.
They truly were the most beautiful black couple I had ever seen.