Tan Lines

Tan Lines

Cerulean,

My favorite color

From the box of 64 Crayola Crayons.

A bright shade, emitting hope,

Refreshing my spirits, every time I see it.

I wish I could represent what that color

Means to me, to the world.

But I’m a white skinned

Pale, girl

A vampire, my friends half-joke

Who only goes out in the night

Turquoise veins visible when I’m too thin

White and blue,

So patriotic.

But I’ve never been mistaken for Caucasian

On Long Island With full plump lips,

From some African ancestors

And exotic features, curves

Being mistaken for Middle Eastern

or Turkish- red and white flag

With a crescent moon and star,

Two symbols I’ve always loved,

or Egyptian, but while I’ve always

Admired Cleopatra and the Sphinx

I can claim no ties to them.

After one year in Brazil,

And time spent in the sun

I’m tan- darker than my mother

For the first time in my life

When I shower, I don’t recognize the brown abdomen

And dark beige legs

Dark arms, with hairs blond from hours

Basking in the hot Southern sun .

I’ve never been this dark,

and my tan lines show me

how much I’ve changed

living in this country

for 52 weeks.

How much darker can I get, I wonder?

Is there a limit?

My great grandfather was ebony

My grandmother mahogany

My mother, chestnut

Each generation lighter than the last.

But now, I am catching up-

I can feel a connection to my late grandmother

So much darker, from hours gardening in the sun

I can appreciate my unruly curls for the first time,

And they say I have her hands.

For the first time, I am a deep shade of beige

Besides the pale areas covered by my bikini

Which remain ghost white, as the day I was born-

There is no hiding that.

My family was shocked when they saw me

On a video call

“We’ve never seen you this dark!”

But it’s still me, Sophia.

Or is it? Am I the same person I was a year ago?

I like the tan, but it’s odd

Looking in the mirror

Seeing a body that I am unfamiliar with,

After 31 years of calling myself “white.”

My foundation shade changed from ivory to medium,

Proof of my transformation.

However, despite these thoughts

Of my cultures, colors, and roots

Brazilian- green and yellow

American- red, white, blue

Sicilian black unruly curls

And a large mouth, that people always comment on.

Did you get lip injections?

Where are you from? You look so exotic.

I want to say damn it all.

So mixed, so many colors and places-

Let me choose my own:

I identify as Cerulean,

Weird as it may sound,

But that’s my shade, the perfect hue,

And I hope when people see that shade

Their thoughts return to me.