[4]
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Brown
     
    
   
   
    
     
      There
      is
      thought,
     
    

    
     
      art
      and
      music
     
    

    
     
      inside
      me
     
    

    
     
      that
      shows
      only
      on
      paper
      —
     
     
      or
      on
      the
      air,
     
    

    
     
      if
      only
      you'd
      listen.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      work
      for
      what
      I
      have,
     
     
      and
      give
      you
      half
     
     
      without
      a
      thank
      you.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      But
      I
      am
      brown
     
    

    
     
      while
      you,
     
    

    
     
      green
      and
      golden
      girl,
     
     
      cannot
      add
      two
      and
      two
     
     
      without
      your
      fingers,
     
    

    
     
      or
      punctuate,
     
    

    
     
      or
      make
      your
      own
      soup
     
     
      without
      a
      fuss.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Aunt
      June
      sat
      with
      you
     
    

    
     
      for
      hours
      at
      a
      time
     
    

    
     
      when
      you
      were
      little,
     
    

    
     
      still
      bald,
     
    

    
     
      still
      wrinkled,
     
    

    
     
      still
      pink.
     
    

    
     
      She
      must
      have
      loved
      you
      best
     
     
      because
      she
      gave
      you
     
    

    
     
      her
      long
      legs,
     
    

    
     
      sunny
      hair,
     
    

    
     
      and
      sparkly
      eyes
      that
      catch
      the
      light
     
     
      and
      hold
      it
      there,
     
    

    
     
      like
      the
      ocean
      in
      the
      summer.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      She
      is
      summer
      all
      year,
     
     
      her
      name
      says
      so.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      And
      she
      made
      you
      summer
      too
     
     
      with
      pools
      and
      sun
     
    

    
     
      that
      shone
      against
      your
     
    

    
     
      fat
      pink
      cheek.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Mom
      gave
      you
      her
      piano
      fingers
     
     
      but
      gave
      me
      her
      talent,
     
    

    
     
      though
      my
      hands
      are
     
    

    
     
      Grandma's
      working
      ones.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      -I'm
      brown
      like
      her.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      But
      still
      she
      most
      often
      looks
      over
      me
     
     
      to
      you,
     
    

    
     
      already
      taller,
     
    

    
     
      already
      curvy,
     
    

    
     
      but
      lean,
     
    

    
     
      and
      sunny,
     
    

    
     
      like
      June.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      You're
      spoiled.
     
    

    
     
      You
      whine
      and
      cry
      —
     
     
      keep
      as
      much
      as
      you
      can
     
     
      for
      yourself,
     
    

    
     
      and
      have
      since
      June
     
     
      gave
      you
      colours.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      am
      thought,
     
    

    
     
      art
      and
      music
     
    

    
     
      in
      a
      brown
      package.
     
    

    
     
      You
      are
      an
      empty
      box,
      wrapped
      in
     
     
      shiny
      paper
      and
      a
      ribbon.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      There
      are
      days
      when
      instead
     
    
   
   
    
     
      _
      of
      taking
      time
      to
      unwrap,
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I'd
      rather
      trade.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Aimee
      Arsenault