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I'm going to do a poem for my mom
My mom and my dad became American citizens in the 80's
And that's how I became an American citizen
And when you get your certification of naturalisation in America
We're so advanced - you know, it's height, eye colour, complexion
So my father's complexion on his paper is 'fair'
Which is not a colour
OK
Think about it
And my mother's complexion was medium
was medium
So this is for my mum, and this is to certify that my mother is now natural
Complexion- medium, certified
Not too sweet, not quite hot
Not too black, not quite white
What was so middle about her?
Hands detangled, parted and quilted thick black waves into braids
Rolled grape leaves with style and speed
Scrubbed ovens, knees and backs of ears, clean with love
Nails always look neat
But on closer inspection chipped and tug tired her voice
singing Um Kalthoum to foreign raised ears
certified citizen, natural
complexion, medium
how will hips be categorised?
childbearing? or nose? semitic?
Would your butt be your African trait?
eyes: indian. hair: mulato. tongue: Arab
Momma, you natural woman of sun, water, air
Given a nation, though no land
Palestinian woman, loss embroidered on your forehead
More than thin *** pieces of paper that could never certify your dreams
Aspirations, heartbreaks,
You can make vegans eat your lamb with relish
Rip your heart out to feed your man
you who makes rhinestone sparkle diamonds
Sequins your daughter's ears with your laugh
Memorise but didn't have dead presidents
Backwards and forwards for citizenship
A place to lay your head
But always told us, take me home when I'm dead
Woman, natural, medium, middle to nothing
Never can they certify what they don't understand