by Selena Huapilla-Perez 
www.watermelaninmag.com

I am Brown
Brown like el Desierto.
Brown like el Rio Bravo.
Brown like el Pan de cada dia.
Brown like the radical Brown Berets.
Brown like the hands that harvest this land,
             the very hands that harvested me.
I am Brown,
Brown like my father’s skin,
             after 48 years under the sun.
Brown like my mami saying:
             “Vas a ver cuando lleguemos a la casa”
             and “Comete toda la comida, que aqui no es restaurante”  
Brown like my abuelitos wrinkled cheeks.
Brown like La Virgencita de Guadalupe,
             to whom my abuelita always prays.
I am Brown,
Brown like mi Mexico
             lindo, querido y adolorido.
Brown like mi Mexico
             and the 366 lives it lost to the 7.1 earthquake.
I am Brown,
Brown like Los 43 de Ayotzinapa.
Brown like las Piramides de Teotihuacan, la Luna y el Sol.
Brown like the YEARS, YEARS, and YEARS of Spaniard colonization.
Brown like the 55% of Mexican land lost to the U.S.
Brown like 1821, when we gained Independencia from los Espanoles.  
Brown like the border,
             THE ONE THAT CROSSED ME.
I am Brown,
Brown like the American Bald Eagle,
Brown like la Aguila Mexicana.
I am Brown,
Brown like Chente’s- Por tu Maldito Amor.
Brown like Selena’s- Baila! Baila esta Cumbia.
Brown like Elvis Crespo’s- Suavemente, Besame.
Brown like El Mariachi Loco quiere bailar!
Brown like Corridos
Brown like Cumbias
Brown like Banda
Brown like Bachata
Brown like Nortenas
Brown like Huapangos
Brown like Reggaeton
I am Brown,
Brown like Thick Trenzas.
Brown like the Leather intertwined in my Huaraches.
I am Brown,
Brown like the dough of my Pan Dulce.
Brown like the Canela in my Horchata.
Brown like my Tortillas.
I am Brown,
Brown like the Machismo that plagues my community.
Brown like todas las Mujeres, Chillonas y Chingonas.
Brown like the 800,000 DREAMers.
Brown like the dirt they tried to bury us in,
             not knowing we were seeds.
Because Brown,
is a color,
a cultura,
a communidad.
             That Stands Up
             Fights Back
             Resists
             Protects
             Dreams.
And yes,
             THAT TAKES JOBS.
I am Brown.
Beauty is Brown.
Support is Brown.
Solidarity is Brown.
Revolution is Brown.
Resiliency is Brown.
Resistance is Brown.
But above all,
             ​PRIDE IS BROWN.

They would say my English was broken,
             So I tried to glue it together.
Some days I would lose sight of why I started,  
             this “American Dream” remaining uncharted.  
After a long day of work, I come home to feed my family of five.
             I stare into their big brown eyes.
I would come back to my senses,  
             ​I’m doing this for them.

​In the end, I let the judges of dust
implicate the boat tailed Grackles,
A highway coded up their long black tails;
 
they did not matter to us. They were
paper maché or a floating recess paper plane.
He said, it was acceptable to hurt me.
That grace will save us. That the tops of brownstones
Are a repentance, like my blood.
 
Myself, I never loved the world.
The world was crystal-encrusted
like New Hampshire in November.
 
For your sins, father, mustachioed, you heaved
sighs under shades of privilege.
Today and tonight the marsh leveled
peepers and balloon-jowl toads,
were at your doorstop, like fairies.
Somewhere out in the dark distance,
boat tailed grackles gave in-human riffs.
All that was mundane was marshaled in
and became unfamiliar.