Café Ole

I only feel beautiful
in brown countries
where the

beating sun wakes the melanoma 

in our skin 

where sentences begin with exclamations hanging 

from toes that dig into the sand strewn 

with seashells made of plastic 

and oil that foreign barges 

travel into bays filled with 

bananas and coconuts

I only feel beautiful 

in brown countries 

where I 

have no ethnicity that raises

eyebrows in milky foreheads 

that crinkle when they cannot match their 

proper language to my 

walnut skin and 

where I blend in for once

in my life indistinguishable and a 

perfect fit in a landscape of slave histories 

I only feel beautiful

in brown countries 

where 

I no longer feel the need to

obsessively slather sunscreen in my skin

because I can't stand the thought 

of turning black