Race

You are the original incognito.Transparent, all things shine through you.She’s the whitest black girl you ever saw,lighter than “flesh” in the Crayola box.But, man, look at that ass and look at her shake itwere just words, not sticks or stones, flungwhen dresses were the proof that clung like skin,when lipstick stained brighter than any blood.Girl, who is it now you’d want to see you?And what would that mean: to be seen?Why not make a blessing of whatall these years you’ve thought a curse?—you are so everywhere, so nowhere,in plain sight you walk through walls.