What Happens To the Brown-Skinned Girls

What happens to all the brown-skinned girls? Sitting on the stoop waiting for the ice cream man to come 20 plats in their hair Turning the double dutch rope Sitting in the middle of the classroom You know, that one girl . . . what’s her name? ponytails neither pony nor tail Who aren’t allowed to wear their hair down or sport Brand X Jeans Who can’t wash that Diaspora right out of their hair or erase their royal heritage The ones that pop their gum the loudest Run the fastest Fight the hardest Dream the most Ones who don’t wear pants and go to church all day Sunday got tattoos wear makeup or slide into their short skirts on the way to school Who are picked first for the team picked last or never picked at all . . . Girls - who don’t have time to hang out ‘cause they “gotta go to work!” for their new dress or in their old car to pay the light bill that momma “forgot” Girls who roll their neck and their eyes their hair and their hips to the rhythms of the Congo, Bronx, or the Swats Girls who sing in the mirror as they glue, braid and towel on that long . . . wavy . . . hair Who, “hate that stupid light-skinded girl” because “she thinks she’s so cute” or hate themselves because they think so too . . . Some may have never had him hold their hand call them beautiful take them to the father/daughter dance come to their rescue . . . See he was in jail/out of town/in denial/out of time insane to forego all the love that just one little brown-skinned girl has to give Girls. Not little Halle, Beyonce, or J Lo But young Angela, Carol, Michelle, and Alek Those awe-inspiring girls who don’t yet know that they are Elegant, intelligent engaging enchanting . . . Who don’t see themselves On movie screens - in magazines The eyes of the world, little boys Their own Who buys them a bomb pop when the ice cream man comes? Tastes the sweet undertones buried in dark chocolate Loves them? Loves them for themselves Who loves them Loves them Who loves