(photo credit: Dwan Williams)
To be brown is a gift,
Not a fad to be worn like yesterday’s clothes
To be carried to the laundromat.
No, brown is warm and sweet,
Cinnamon and nutmeg
Or a rich chocolate to savor.
Brown is sacred,
Embraced by many but understood by few.
Colloquialisms and terms of endearment
Flow so easily from the lips,
But when you see brown in the streets,
Do you dare say, “Hello?”
And yet, brown is love,
Wrapped in satin sheets and lover’s arms.
Hands tangled together, bodies held close,
Eyes never leaving the other;
A glimpse of intimacy.
But brown is fear,
Dark, brooding, mysterious,
Cloaked in danger, faced by mistrust.
Brown is a boy,
ripped from his youth,
mirrored by lawlessness,
hopeless because that is all he is seen to be.
Dare I speak without your ears to listen?
Dare you hold your fire if I hold my peace?
Be not afraid of brown,
Afraid of us, afraid of… me.