Naomi Helena Quiñonez




When You Look At Me: A
 Brown Woman’s Lament

    When you look at me
    you see motel maids
    changing sheets
    in the pink & grey rooms
    your parents stay in.

    you see dark brown women
    on their knees scrubbing floors
    in Baja restaurants
    or standing with a blue-eyed child
    on each hip.

    It doesn’t matter if I wear
    tweed suits and pace the floor
    on Givenchy heels
    in front of busy chalk boards

    You see Lupita the nanny
    in your t.v.  mind.
    she wears mismatched clothes
    and slide heavily on leather huaraches
    towards her unwashed children.

    To you I am an aberration
    that confuses your senses
    and blurs your vision.
    It is difficult for you to
    recognize me as “Dr.”
    You want me to remain nameless
    silent, invisible.

    But I stand before you
    speaking your language
    and teaching you things
    you are not sure of.

    Now you must either change
    your misguided notions of who I am
    or kill the me
    that cannot live in your world.

                           II
    When you look at me
    you see educated nipples
    intelligent legs, a brilliant ass.

    You chica, mija, chula me
    until you get beyond the fact
    that i have a phd.

    In department meetings
    I call for broad visions
    and student needs.
    You envision a broad
    who can meet your needs.

    You are unfamiliar
    with a woman
    who can see through
    your veneer.
    My loud clear voice
    threatens your ears.

    To you I am expendable
    like the woman who keeps
    taking you back
    like the mother who is
    always there to feed you.

    Like that part of yourself
    that you thought you destroyed
    when you decided to become
    a thin worn metallic chair
    a conflict without resolution.