Please don’t call me white bread…

For You Dad

I am 

a biracial girl,

whose fingers flinch

mad feather pinches,

driven 

from ancient sands

each time 

a survey 

asks 

for  

my depth of 

tan.

Please don’t call me white bread-

My father

 died 

 4 years ago

and he’s 

not.

about.

to die.

again.

in this box.

by.

my pen.

so I check other 

Something other

than grandparents who 

hate fathers

who aren’t white enough

for their daughters

and other

than horrible questions 

which make me feel

like unclaimed baggage 

without a place

to call home,

something other 

than coworkers labeling me

“white bread”,

other than 

MY DAUGHTER’S step mother

warning 

MY DAUGHTER

she must 

never.

ever.

say. 

she came from me

from people born in Hungary

dirty Turks and thieves 

and Jews… 

from ancient seas

driven

like mad feather pinches 

whose fingers 

still flinch

through biracial

girls.

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