Stripes vs. Blends

I'm nicely blended
but sometimes
I wish for stripes.
Black for my father, yellow for my mother:
mismatched eyes, brown and hazel.
Flame shapes in my hair, like a tiger's coat,
lines of pigment on my fingernails
like an Appaloosa's hooves.
Here and there a fleck of copper.

Then instead of asking
"Where are you from?" which is always code for
"I cannot figure out what race you are--"
you'd be wanting to know:
"Who did your nails?
I love your hair!"

I'll fix you a meal
of roast lamb and Hunan-style snow peas
and afterwards, we can go to the communal zikr
at the Dharma Rain Zen Center. I love my town.
I love the future.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside