I Am Ethnicity

When I was born
I was white
with kinky hair
my eyes
the shape of almonds
Asian almost

When I grew
so did the bones of my cheeks
like tiny mountain peeks
of the red Sedonians
brown like the Arizonian
proud like the Indian

Now as I am
I wonder what to be
of the people of my father
east of the Mississippi
or the people of my mother
south of Mexico City

What is it I am?
granddaughter of la Mestiza
niña de la Chicana
paying homage to
Our Lady Guadalupe
the great mother of Malinche

What it is I am
is a woman
born of a Mexican
bearing the face
of an African
living life 
as an American
knowing I am no more
than human

*previously published in The Pacific Review

To Love a Black Face

It’s important that you know
my mother is Mexican;
Chicana to be precise.
I am her religion—non
practicing, of course,
and I grew up (by default)
with her morality,
as well as her chicken molé. When
people look at me—skin
like brown sugar caramelized
—they don’t see
this. They stare at
my Viva la Raza
t-shirt and Che Guevara
patches and pins
and wonder why. I speak Spanish,
they laugh. How cute!
La negrita knows
a few palabras. “Que bueno!”
So condescending
in a politely courteous
sort of way. There are those, too,
that despise (resent maybe)
me, wondering why
you look at me
the way you do. How
could it be possible? To love
a black face.