A patch of blue, guess who?

 

A family that will continue

to defy social norms

just by existing,

 

avoids confrontation at all costs.

 

I have become accustomed

to the tension that only hums

during unspoken words in long car rides,

where you touch upon what

mixed girls were called when you grew up,

 

but why won’t you ask me

what I was called.

 

When I grew up

I only learned about interracial love

through Sydney Poitier movies,

forever searching but never quite

understanding the result of it

 

*

 

Buy-One-Get-One-For-A-Penny

 

When I need to see my face from every angle

I go to the JCPenney fitting room in the Warwick Mall.

 

The three quarter mirror is located right

in front of the entryway, making it more

of a 360 view, considering the reflected judgement

seen through the eyes of the local passersby-shoppers.

There are the nods of approval or the tilt, suggesting

this isn’t quite my color.

 

I feel small

in a way that overwhelms me,

estimating the amount of people in the store,

cars in the parking lot, clothes on the hangers.

 

I feel average

in a way that grounds me

reminding me of where I’m from

and the people that live and die where I grew up.

 

JCPenney has a way of turning myself into a stranger

But in a way that feels constructive

only happening when your arrogance is met with the criticism of

people you truly

don’t care about.

 

It’s that three quarter mirror, showing each angle

of how my ass looks in this maxi dress that creates

a multifaceted image of who I was

am,

and who I could have

become.