Autumn sun has finally risen.
Smoke billows upward, adding clarity; 
burning each storm-below-freezing 
that had forced a conversion to whiteness.
All else on me has melted but a snow skull-cap.

I am the color of obsidian arrow
chipped by a stone to form a glistening, 
jagged surface. The empire is at war 
with people of color around the world.

As I walk down the street, folks steer 
as if I am aiming for their heart.
As we pass, I skim her shoulder.
She inhales fast, then stiffens from
the poison in which she thinks 
I have been dipped.

They can only imagine how it feels;
like looking at a brown man 
who does not know that we are brothers yet.  
Oh, but he will 
when the war comes his way.