Her choice for today’s reading was purposely short, both because of her nerves and because she feared revealing too much of her disastrous life—even through poetry. Jasmine began, “This is for my roommate, Padma, who pushes me way beyond my comfort zone...and sometimes, just sometimes, into the light.”
She took a few deep breaths and placed her open notebook face down on the floor. Her eyes closed as she recited the first few verses.
The man approached on the street, Eyeing my hair, my lips, my skin. His mouth munched Twizzlers, his thick brow bunched confusion. “What color are you?” His head cocked quizzical. I thought on it—scanned past and present; Things that scorched my blood, Things that still echoed in my bones. I touched my skin, nodded. Me? I am the color of life and the color of loss, I am the color of promise and the color of pain, I am the color of denial and the color of faith, I am the color of God’s tears And the color of love. Me, mister? I am the color Of a tattered heart. You?