Could I Be Your Black

Let me ask you something,
If I smiled at you, would you take a chance and consider me?
If I flashed my pearly whites at you, could you ever accept me?
I’m probably twenty shades darker than you,
and knowing this, tell me: What would you do?
Would you, white man, offer to be the milk in my coffee?
Would you put aside your white chocolate and have some of my toffee?
Or would you simply blow me off without even a thought?
Could I be the woman to change your life? Stir your pot?
What would you do if I licked my lips real soft, real slow?
Could I sit as brown sugar next to your Sweet-n-Low?
C’mon baby, I promise not to be offended, just let me know.
Would you let me be the pepper next to your salt,
or would you do me like they do malt?
Steeped, germinated, and dried.
C’mon, be honest with me. I see no need to lie.
Could you love me with my weave or my short and nappy curls?
With my rough feet and tough hands, could you refer to me as your girl?
Could you come to care for me with my two inch nails
and the color of my flesh - which isn’t too pale?
Would you take notice if I sashayed my hips when my existence passed yours?
Tell me, if I did like Michael(J.) would you like me more?
Could I be your cookie and you my cream?
Or is all this more likely to occur in a dream?
If I grooved next to you would I be a relevant thought or would you give me no regard, pay me no heed?
If I told you I loved you, would you wave me off or devote your time to me like you would your creed?
Would you hate me if I were the spots on your dalmatian, the stripes on your zebra?
Would you like me better if my name were Ashley or Amanda instead of Shenique or Jemimah?
Could I be the black tie against your white suit
or would you turn me away, kicking me to the curb with your boot?
Does my color offend you? Does my shade scare you?
Does my questioning our being together bother you?
Is it because I question whether you think we could ever be,
or is it because you could simply never see yourself with me?
Could I be the ink against your paper,
The black on your leather?
If I grinned, smiled, let my dimples show
would you smile back and allow emotions for me to grow?
If I permed my hair - maybe relaxed it, curled it some,
Would you nurture me like you nurse your rum?
With all the daintiness, sensitivity, and grace that I may lack
My dear, could I possibly, ever, be your black?

by Dorlette Pierre-Louis