A Yup'ik girl hangs back,
Sad and separate
From the herd of
Rowdy Yuqs.
She sits, sinks into
The couch — the side
In the shade —
And pretends not to be bored.
I ask why
She doesn't want to play
Bat or tag with her friends
In the dirt road.
She huddles deeper
Like a clam during a
Negative tide,
Hiding from my shovel.
My digging works, though.
The truth comes out of her,
A slimy secret
Alive in her heart shell.
She whispers
That she is too brown
To go into the sun and play
She wants to be pale
Like me.
Anger rips through me
As I hug her and try not to cry.
She is not too brown
Not too anything.
This strong, brave girl
Who lost her father to the sea
In my front yard
This girl, powerful and
Devastated by her loss
Is ashamed of her brown skin
And I want to hurt, kill,
Whoever gave her shame
Whoever broke yuuyaraq
To break her spirit.
I spend the afternoon
Talking, walking with her,
Teaching her the beautiful things
That mirror her color —
Rich tidal flats, chocolate,
Acorns, moose meat,
Her sealskin hat,
And her father's skin, too.
YOU ARE READING
Big Eyes
PoetryPoems from my path across the United States as I attempt to heal and find my family. ***my mother and I have reconciled. We're good, you shouldn't worry.
