Housing Arts Festival
Poem
In Intimacy There Is No Color
When I’m making my child, or God is
and I’m having by child
when I’m nursing my child
and I’m raising her
there is no colorWhen I look at my child & she looks at met
there is no colorBut when I glance at her,
When I hold her hand in mine….I notice & so does she
That we happen to be different colorsMy hand is bigger
Her eyes are bigger
Our noses are the sameAnd when we step outside our circle,
When we meet the world
People only see the color.
Is she yours? I’ve always wanted
to have a mixed baby, mixed
babies are the prettiest babies…..or silence
When she was 3
When she was 12
and again when she was 23, Silence.
When we enter a room where everyone
else is the same color as meWhen I’m loving her, there is no color
In intimacy there is no color
Smanthie Kaye