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Pass the skin-colored crayon, please

BY HALLIE DONG (staff writer)



do you mean bronze?

ivory,

beige,

terra-cotta

or

ochre?


Pass the skin-colored crayon, please.


would you like

russet-brown,

khaki,

tawny-yellow,

deep sepia

or olive?


i’d like to give you all of them,

if that’s what you mean.


Pass the skin-colored crayon, please.


peach?


what about the hue of

autumn leaves

dappled in rays of sun?


how about the dark-brown

umber of trees so wise

their rings outnumber our souls?


Pass me the skin-colored crayon, please.


no,

don’t call me

yellow.


i am fields of wheat

swaying in the summer’s heat;

the sweat of my ancestors

toiling in the fields


i am pastel;

brighter than the fiery arrival of dawn,

lighter than a fawn’s touch

treading on sodden leaves

in a forest clearing


i am the gold-rimmed ring

of an eclipse;

tendrils of mist reaching

for solar runes,

moon rising.


Pass the skin-colored crayon, please.


say mahogany;

say sun-kissed freckles

scattered like constellations

across deep velvet skies;

say the scorching color

of red desert dunes,

wind whipping through my hair;

tell me to pass the color of

the glow of morning.


do not tell me to pass the skin-colored crayon.


for there are many colors,

and not one.

there are many people,

and not one.


there are too many skin-colored crayons to count;

too many to encompass within one word.

and i?


i

am simply

asking:


which one?


Sharing culturally diverse stories to educate, inspire, and empower others

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