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Jacqueline Paduano

Behind the Ivory Curtain


I am sheltered. 


By a thin piece of fabric, 

a snowy drape that masks 

a rich Puerto Rican culture. 


I wear a cloak that I can don 

when others with white garments 

glance with judgment in their eyes 

at the members of my family 

wearing dark brown overcoats. 


I want to let out a shrill. 


So loud, that it pierces 

their ignorant minds 

and forces them 

to spare an ounce of respect. 


But instead, 

to evade the critical gazes, 

I stretch out my ivory curtain

to cover those that stray from 

the purest shade of white. 


Maybe if these people see 

that my family has kin 

with a tone of chalk, 

they will let them be. 


How tiring it is 

to live in a world 

with so many colors 

that must be muted 

to be admired. 


Little do those in the light clothes know

that underneath my ivory curtain, 


I am no longer white.




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