I see her
in the mirror
a chubby-
cheeked
ruddy
imp
she looks back at me
through dark, almond- shaped eyes
a gaze of intensity
- a woodland nymph,
a sprite,
mischievous elf.
I've come to accept her
though we've had our battles
my youthful rebellions
against the self
futile
I know
although
I turned from my father's
Nordic look
our Germanic coloration
I longed to be " other"
( as my mother)
- of a faraway nation.
( reminiscences of lost Sumer, Scythia...)
Always assumed Anglo
I'm not
not at all,
and I recall
how my half sister,
older cousin
we're never confronted
with that assumption
still, they were asked
and often
" What are you?"
" Middle Eastern
Greek
Gypsy
Indian, even?"
And I think of them,
women,
on my mother's side of
the family
permanently tanned
dark- haired
exotic
echoing the East
the Hungarian's dimly remembered
lineage
of tribal people
nomads
warrior horsemen
galloping from Asia
I too, am they
I've the fire
if not the look...
freckle- faced child
carrot- topped
funny
how
I longed for
raven, blue- black
hair
thick and luxurious
shining.
Still, I'm
fair
not caramel- skinned
- a light beige
not capucinno
nor toffee
I've a wispy,
windblown
mess
my covering like crepe
a splotchy
fragile parchment
crinckled
and wrinkled
prematurely
by this desert's
unforgiving sun
- that burning
blaze...
and I'm amazed
at how,
with time
a peace came
and with it understanding
to love the skin
we're in
it's not replaceable
we aren't capable of shedding
as a snake does-
it's outgrown hide
so grow
pride
and realize that all bloodlines
are a blessed birthright
uniquely beautiful.