Her White Self

Her white self breathing as hard as your black self.


Her crystal blue gazing into your dark brown,

both giggling at the dreary sky

above you.


Her white self pulls your black self to stand.

Strong, like two oxen standing as tall and as firm as each other.


You sit her down to do her hair.

Fine, silky strands run through and over your fingers,

like strangers visiting a foreign land.


But she laughs.

A laughter that echoes through the room,

a laughter reminiscent of the childhood you spent together,

a laughter that is shared now with your black children,

and her white children.


The sun sets for the evening,

and for a moment, you glimpse the universe

through the clearing clouds.


Your white dress contrasts her black dress,

as your black skin contrasts her white skin.


Unashamed,

you both carry your children outside to lay on sodden grass

as the sky opens up and the stars form shapes you instantly recognise.


They shine down on you, mirroring your ethereal beauty,

and just as quickly as they came,

they are gone again.


The clouds swell and weep.


Your black coils cling to your black skin

as you dance in the rain

with your white family.


Her white hands cling to your black hands and you spin each other

around

and around

and around

and around

in circles

until you collapse in the grass.

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