brown

there is guilt in my mourning.
i became aware of my color
and lost my lola
at the same time.

and first and foremost, I miss her.
i miss her funny quirks and her demanding our time
and her love for sweets and american mayo.

but i lost time to learn
my brown
from her.
to carry her pride and her culture with me
the way my skin does without knowing.

to ask why she didn’t teach her children tagalog.
to hear how nursing school was never enough,
she had to study every night afterward.

to listen to her voice
tell me how a brown woman
lived when she was young.

i missed it.
and her stories
and recipes
will have to sustain me—
and i wonder
if they are enough
that my brown
will last.