by Donna Weaver
6th grade: I woke up, found my nipples,
they were no longer pink. They were brown
suntanned, dry skin, not soft like the rest
of my body. Under shirts, I masqueraded as a white
middle school girl with my new brown
nipples. They could tell of my father’s secret
black skin. I was not prepared for
my areolae to darken. At parties where boys were
pushing hands up girl’s shirts. I knew
their nipples were pink because they were
white like my mom, her taut, pencil eraser
nipples when she bathed. I had to keep white
boy fingers from twisting my nipples. Their mouths would
would not suck on my brown. Boys like them wanted pink.
Donna Weaver’s work has appeared in, or is forthcoming from the Tahoma Literary Review, Drunkenboat, Colere, Solstice Literary Magazine, the American Journal of Poetry, Griffel, the Bangalore Review, Epiphany Literary Journal, Aji Magazine, Poetry Motel, Pavement Saw, and others. She was accepted to the Cave Canem African American Poet’s Summer Writing Retreat. She is a graduate of the University of Pittsburgh’s Undergraduate Writing Program. Donna was the founding editor of Caketrain Journal & Press.