Heritage

I am nothing to claim. 

White skin and dark hair;

I can’t call myself anything. 

I envy those who have heritage, 

rich and proud, 

black brown and loud. 

Me, I come from a history of nothingness: 

my father born Jewish, 

my mother born Caucasian 

(the word for the occasion 

when they don’t have anything to say 

except you’re white). 

White like ghosts 

you're taught to be afraid of. 

White like cotton 

slaves were forced to pick. 

Had my mother too been Jewish, 

at least I could have possessed that as what I am. 

Yes, I know from where my ancestors came, 

and I have to laugh to this day 

that some people say 

I am privileged to be this color. 

And to those I say, fuck no! 

‘Cause I have to risk skin cancer to 

look as healthy as you,

and I have to wear makeup that clogs my pores 

to make me look alive, not dead. 

And when people speak of the color of snow, 

let’s not forget dirt is brown, 

and in it is where things grow. 

You may read this 

and call it self-hate. 

But my intention’s not that. 

This is just a message 

to which some of us relate.

© Suzanne Saxon, 2013

White and Brown
Photo by Tony Russell