Brown

Growing up I've only ever seen brown.

Sometimes in the midst of the dark,

Red and blue lights could be heard across the way.

And I would fall asleep listening to the lullaby of the sirens; Someone never made it home, Someone I never knew.

The police in my town were brown too.

I never knew of people in blue killing the brown people.

In my town violence was mostly brown on brown;

Brown people who lived life sporting red hated those who sported blue.

Brown people who cooked things that weren't food.

This was my definition of being brown.

One afternoon I saw father brown go outside with a white shirt.

He came back in with his white shirt accented with red splatters.

His ear had to get sown back on that day.

White men in black came to our home one day asking for father brown;

A brown child shouldn't make a sound when men in blue or black around.

When I observe the world of white there is a freedom I never have experienced that transcends more than just developmental rights.

Could there ever be understanding when people from two different worlds collide?