What if?

THE COLOR OF MY SKIN

I washed my hands again

Determined to get this inky blackness off.

To make my palms and hands of equal hue.

To rid myself forever of this object of discrimination

The color of my skin.

I looked at myself

My hair curled tightly into burrs

Declaring my identity out plain.

I heat the comb, and with determination

Fizzed and burnt my hair into straightness.

Now they stand out from my head unrecognized

Until with paper curls, I twisted each strand back

To hide my blackness.

I stretched my neck

Its darkened contours

Contrasted with my face above my collar.

I reached for bottles

Applying creams to neck and shoulders.

Intent on total camouflage

My objective - to become of lighter hue

To be acceptable

But as I watched

I saw a figure next to mine

Reflected in the mirror.

I saw that I was fashioned in his image.

I saw the different shades of black

 The chocolate, almond, licorice, butter scotch, rest awhile

Then like neon lights flash across his face.

Declaring that we are all made in his image.

Important enough to die for.

Important just the way we are.

And as the image slowly faded

I felt a fire shimmer through my backbone

I put the cream back on the mantle shelf

And pocket book in hand

I walked away to face the world.

                        @Angella P. Browne.