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  100, 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.