Not So Much
If I could change color
would you love me forever?
If I could change color
would you love me like an angel,
like a hero, like a god?
Not "color" as in "ethnic,"
like Caucasian, Asian, African…
Not color like a tattoo,
or a sunburn or a tan.
But like an octopus or chameleon
a magic paint-job from within me
washing outward like a wave
of purple, green or gold?
If I was a mountain
would you love me forever?
If I was a mountain
would you love me like the land?
A racial memory, family history,
roots incarnate. The place
where sky meets water
where we finally
make our stand?
If I was a mirror
would you love me forever?
If I whispered, "You are lovely,"
would you love me like a song?
If every time you faced me
you saw everything as I see it;
you’d see colors ever changing,
moutains, angels, sky and god.
Days are not colors.
Hands are not mountains.
Words are not mirrors.
And I
am
not
god.
