Skin

Skin

as a child
I collected all things foreign
stamps, postcards, rocks, coins
trying to capture the exotic
to erase my plainness
I tried on the blue-black wigs at Kmart
which only illuminated my ghostly skin
staring back at me in the mirror

this skin does not fit my soul
it looks too thin, too dull, too clean
to hold all the life within
I long to blend with the earth
to trade in my too white skin
for a rich, warm brown with eyes of cocoa
to wear gauzy saris, beaded moccasins, silk kimonos
and speak a more musical language

if only I were a snake
I would shed this ill-fitting suit
for a more tailored outfit
made of colorful, exotic materials
to coordinate with my spirit
letting me breathe
as I dance against the earth
ssspeaking in foreign tongues


* first published in America's Intercultural Magazine