My Brown Daughter

Dad Holds Flannery 2
My Brown Daughter

Even before the adoption
we shared the same
last name. Call it Fate,

the gods, or pure color
blind chance—
I like to think it means

something. In the first
photo of me
and her, I cradle this

infant like a holy visitant
from across
what lines and tracks

I already know, already
sense will
compel second looks

in Home Depot, questions
and answers,
approval, or not, love

of skin, hair, and eyes
my whiteness
makes foreign, till

I am drowned in the beauty
of brown, swept
up and away cross sweet

Jordans by a chariot
that swung
low for me and her,

coming with a band
of angels
to carry us home.

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