What Lies Beneath the Skin

My grandmother made an enemy of the sun

Protected my sister’s ebony from its rays

With an umbrella shaped shield she battled

And kept us inside on hot days

My grandfather called my hair “too niggerish”

When my mother refused lye and hot comb

I told him my brown skin was a blessing

He admonished “Girl!

Watch your tone”

My sister’s hair was her greatest Allurement

It spoke of Africa with a slight Spanish tongue

My grandmother would comb it and praise

The Panama Canal it took passage from

My mother was the darkest of her sisters

My father’s eyes are grey like Saturday souse

His grandmother, when he planned to wed

Said,

“Get that black bitch out my house”

My love belonged once to a strong man

His hair locked and his skin was dark leather

I brought him one night home for dinner

My grandmother told me “do better”

My daughter is warm honey and sweet milk

The suns rays can but kiss her skin gold

My grandmother coos and calls her “pretty”

Such are the lies

         we were sold