And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
To this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
Through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
The Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
Up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
At twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
Hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
This seems like a pivotal statement; the essence of the poem; the fact that humans have their own perceptions and understanding of the “truth”.
Theme for English B