by Aleza Freeman

Clean, white, virtuous.
Then there’s the browns
flesh tones, dirt tones
espresso mocha, coffee bean browns
layers of rainbow browns,
like stairways

They cut so quickly,
curve opposes shape,
with scales in precision,
stacks of sharp scales,
lined upon browns

A knife raised to stab,
or scratch or rip,
anything to break me apart
and tear me wide open,
inside-out, brown.