"What are you?"
The little girl asked.
"You don't look like anyone
I've seen in the past." "Your skin is brown
Not black or white.
Your hair is straight
Not kinky or light." "You could be an Indian
But I don't think so.
My friend said
You must be a Negro." "I've been called colored." I said.
"And I've also been called black.
Now I'm called Afro American
What do you think of that?" The little girl looked puzzled.
"I don't understand she confessed.
Why don't you just say you are an American
And put all those other names to rest?" "It can be confusing,"
I said with a smile.
"If you'll give me a moment
I'll try to explain to you my child." "Never mind," she said.
"Let's just leave it alone.
I still don't understand though
Because America is your home."