Coconut girl and the mirror

  Once upon a time coconut girl ran into a child holding a rock

The child's eyes turned into a big mirror

Coconut girl saw the mirror for the first time in her life. 

A moment of self-discovery 

She didn’t like what she saw 

She was scared 

she smashed the mirror

100,000 pieces the mirror scattered

Each one has the same picture: Coconut girl

A l00, 000 coconut girls

The child died on the cross

Went to heaven 

A whole generation passed

The 100,000 mirrors grew up mirror trees 

Each with 100,000 more mirrors with brown girls on them

Mirrors speak; I am your identity, I am your grandmother el-hajjeh, back in the old country

Look into my eyes; I’m your mirror

Erase me from your diary; you can’t erase me from your genes.

Brown on brown

She tore down grandmother's picture but grandmother still existed

The more she avoided looking into the child's brown eyes the more she was dissolving 

Living in denial is the best cure

She turned off the history 

She preached; I’m felicity, I am beige now. 

I’m the saint of all saints, 

I study people, 

I’m above everyone 

I’m exotic, 

I am hommous, 

I am tabbouleh.

I’m just another coconut girl

I tell people what is right and what is wrong

And in the meantime I uproot me

To be Arab and proud, what a combination!

Is it logically feasible?

It scares me, 

I see those pictures of my grandmothers that I burnt.

I apologize to the mirror and the children

It’s not about you 

Grandma visits me in my dream, passes her gentle loving hand on my forehead and forgives me.

My self-hatred is blinding my vision; the cowboys taught me that I am brown because I am dirty,

They invented Clorox. I washed me with Clorox so that I can fit.

I don’t want to be dirty.

Grandma visits me in my dream, passes her gentle loving hand on my forehead and forgives me.

Brown bleached girl got pregnant...

She gave birth to a brown little boy who was holding a rock

I’m a mere rusty brown link on the chain of “us's” identity

I happened to be a prime number

A second generation ya grandmother

Don’t blame me

Brown Jesus visits me in my dream, passes his gentle loving hand on my forehead and forgives me.