In a family where shadows dwell, I stand
A flicker of dawn, a gentle light
Light brown hair, sometimes deemed blonde,
A secret spark in the night.
Dad’s words echo, sharp and true,
“If it’s born blonde, we’re giving it up for adoption,
because it can only be like one of two people”
A lineage tangled, stories of struggle,
Of those who’ve been rough.
Mom’s whispers, soft and clear,
“People like blonde, blue-eyed”
As if it’s the better thing,
A standard to be tried.
They pull my dad and sister aside at airport gates everytime,
Dark-skinned, passing as Iranian perhaps
In a world that judges by sight,
A game of masks and hidden sins.
Friends laugh, “Mexi Alert,” they say,
Not knowing roots entwined
My sister, my kin, within their joke,
A truth they left behind.
College days, a joke unkind,
Black humor in the light of day
She’s black you just can’t tell
Be quiet, please
Humiliation’s bitter taste,
Humans lost in their own sway.
ICE, now Fruit-Gonzalez
A name reborn, a story told
Will my children face the same storm,
Harassed, scorned, and cold?
Yelled at windows, dismissed,
Their dignity torn apart
The police’s brutal hand
A shattered piece of their heart.
When I ask about the nephew again,
The one with the broken elbow at the hands of the police
My husband’s words, a quiet ache
“Which one?” he asks, resigned
to the countless lives at stake.
We carry light, we carry dark,
A tapestry of love and pain
In every sunlit, shadowed part,
We rise again, again.
