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248 The Impossibility of Let it Go SHARON HAMMOND I see their stares as you hurry past, with three sugar brown girls in tow and a dada I thought she was the dada, they whisper. I see you yell, Hurry up, Malaika! Hurry, up, Akemi! Hurry up, Naseku! But the three sugar brown girls in matching dresses and party shoes are too busy twirling and singing “Let it go! Let it go!” with three-year-old gusto to understand the urgency of this moment. Only one of them is hers, you know, they whisper. I see the whites of your eyes, the startle in your slender legs. I call to you, waving my hand like a white flag. You quicken your step. Your face breaks into the same smile that made a white man want to climb inside your black skin and own it like he owned Mama Akemi’s. like he owned Mama Naseku’s. 249 I see you every day, telling the girls they are sisters. I see you every day telling the girls that their mothers are everyone’s mother. I see you every day fighting the whys in your unrelaxed mind while we drink cider and watch the sea as three sugar brown girls twirl and sing the impossibility of “Let it go! Let it go!” ...


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