Exotic, a poem by Keri Wilborn
Exotic…
What are you?
These are the words that you ask me
Stranger on the street, classmate at school, supervisor at my job
I’m tired of explaining what I am
Why can’t you try and discover who I am
They tell me I am exotic
They also told me when I was young that I was not black, I was not white, I was not Native
I was different, weird…exotic
They called me mixed, mulatto, a zebra
Why is your hair so wild, why is your skin so light, why are your lips so big?
They tell me now that I am exotic
How dare you tell me I am not Black
For the woman that raised me has beautiful brown skin, kinky curls and graceful hands
How dare you tell me I am not White
For the woman who gave birth to my father has clear blue eyes, fair skin and flowing long hair
How dare you tell me I am not Native
For the woman that gave birth to my mother has keen almond shaped eyes and strong cheekbones
You tell me I am exotic
But exotic is foreign to this part of the world
Exotic is intriguing
Exotic is excitingly strange
A young woman who questions my place in this world, my intrigue and my strangeness
Who am I
I am not strange and I am definitely of this world
In fact, I am a mix of all the things that make up this world, both near and far
They will not ask me what I am anymore
They will discover who I am
They will not call me exotic anymore
For I am my Black mother’s daughter, my White grandmother’s grandchild and my Native grandmother’s grandchild
And yes, I have wild hair that matches a wild spirit
Yes, I have light skin that glows similar to my White Grandmother’s
And yes, I have full lips that speak eloquently like my Black mother
I am not exotic
I am a daughter and mother and woman of this world.
Keri Wilborn
copyright 2015 Keri Wilborn