by Danni Quintos
They ask me where I’m from & the answer is hundreds of years old.
Is that last name Spanish?
From Spain?
I sharpen my claws & answer carefully.
Originally, I say,because colonization.
They tell me they need to read up on that.
When I split in two, they don’t understand, they speak louder & slower, they explain what should be done instead.
Where are you really from?
orI don’t see color.
I leave my brown legs & ass in a secret place & rise above, meaning aerial, bat’s eye view, inhaling through my nose & counting to ten.
I come back & combine with myself.
I fill in the bubble marked Other.
I use a hyphen.
In the Philippines, they deter me with seasoning: salt, garlic, ash; they reflect me ghostly on billboards, erase my melanin with papaya soap & Photoshop.
Here, I am repelled by questions, mispronunciation, fetish & the phraseI know how it feels to be.
- Share this Poem:
