Crayola

A rainbow of colors,
brown as dirt,
black as midnight,
red as bricks,
orange as the pumpkinsin the field,
pink as Charlotte's pig,
blue as the faded jeans
that are all she can afford,
purple as the bruises,
inside.
Children singing,
chanting
in the playground,
look at her with glittering eyes
of mischief.

"Red rover, red rover
send the gringa right over!"

She casts her eyes of lush grass
to the ground so brown,
hiding her tears
beneath hair of fire
and runs with feathered strength
into the arms of contempt.
Her coloring book
of skies as blue as the ocean,
hair of dirt,
skin of dust,
eyes of midnight.
Hiding behind
wistfully colored pages,
she paints herself with crayons.
Colors of the rainbow,
her crayolas,
must color skin!
Looking into the mirror
her pain screams
to an image not wanted,

"PINCHI GRINGA!
HAIR OF FIRE,
EYES OF LUSH GRASS
SKIN OF CHARLOTTE'S PIG
THAT CRAYOLAS WON'T CHANGE!

pinchi gringa.

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By Wendy Simms