I am Brown

I am the color of my grandmother’s eyes, peaceful

in death.

The comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee

Gulped down as we remember her.

The unassuming worn bark peeking through soft green moss.

the cyclical smell of the earth after it rains

in growth, death, decay.

I am brown.

Not black/white… no deconstruction allowed for someone like me

a mediocre monolith

a undescriptive denial of my

rich/

/simple

Inter-generational brownness.

a warm/cool brown is all the same

a lack of whiteness.

I am more than your afterthought.

I will speak when I decide.

I will not hold my peace.

I am brown.