The Skin Under My Skin

Is brown. 

I feel it pushing forward. 
Frontward. 
When I cross that invisible boundary
between busy and wealthy to
slow and less. 
I feel it in the breeze through palm fronds.
I taste it in the kiss of my berry brown skinned babies
& the juice of a papaya/pineapple/mandarin. 
Dusty roads where sun slices through green 
crowded streets where contests are held to see how many can fit on a bus
they have their own visual music. 
I say it in the rhythm of words
that trip off the tongue in cant and flow
like water through stones. 

I shed my skin
like snow melting to reveal the earth beneath. 
Earth that stretches and rises
under these tropical suns. 
Rises to life. 
To breath. 
To peace. 
To growth. 

The skin under my skin is brown.