all the things we are not

 

Nah, it’s not exact to say we’re the same page--though we are cut from the same textile 

Whose deep roots anchor us strongly in the earth. 

 

We were never textbook though. Our table of contents held recipes and plenty ellipses. 

Space for me to doodle dabble in your margins. 

 

Little did I know I needed that space, that

Space that you oh so Generously oh so Genuinely curated

For me to be…

 

Little did I know, but I would learn:

I would learn to laugh and love chocolate unconditionally.

I would learn to iron my clothes with a teaspoon of your patience

Learn to match color scheme to seasons, and humbly accept my accolades for best dressed. 

 

And we are best dressed;

Our finesse fills the space to the brim, and simmers smooth. 

 

I would learn to walk with a high head and bad eyes. 

Damnit our terrible vision!

 

Learn that confidence is a fabric that we weave into the words we say when we know 

And when we don’t

The words which leave the space that fills a void. 

I would learn the art of the soft smile: add two dimpled drops

Under brown eyes that understand. 

Brown eyes that are somehow always closed in the family photo!

 

We are the brown eyes they write songs about. 

Deep, and deeply beautiful, and discerning.

Eyes not easily distracted when invited to the conversation,

The type of contact I always crave. 

 

You taught me how to see 

And that seeing may not always be believing 

But believing is being. 

 

I hold belief in the things I’ve not yet learned 

tenderly in the headspace to accept them. 

And believing is being grateful.

 

Black women watch over me as I type these black words on a white screen, 

These black keys underneath the white pads of my brown fingers have unlocked so many doors.

The very doors you taught me to walk through.

With a high head and bad eyes.

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