Overread at Booth 2: Poem of the Day: Onyx Fingertips

                Fingertips, you touch

                my skin, and thus, you

                assign my identity.

                I am merely the

                race you require of

                me, according

                to the situation.

                At a restaurant, I             

                am white, at our

                family fiestas,

                soy puro Latino,              

                and for this

                war,

                I am black

                and hard

                as onyx.

MR
2017-0719