I AM NOT WHITE

The dentist says my teeth tell of invasions

     mixed blood

the tale of a proud, mongrel people

      I am Sicilian

      I am not white

I will not check the box for white

      on any form

In Sicily

my ancestors recognized white

to be the color of sparkling linens

      towels, tablecloths, sheets

      the color of clouds, seafoam, and bones

not family faces with their

      African, Greek, Arabic, Norman casts

North Italians call us Africans

a Milanese told me that in Sicily

      he heard Africa’s drums

I hear them, too,

      especially when

      from across the little stretch of gleaming sea

      North African winds

      blow through our homes

Sicilians left for other lands

trying to escape poverty    injustice

      they prayed to their

      Black Madonna of Tindari

      miraculous advocate for the poor

      for guidance

      packing her image with their clothes

In America at first

they called us colored

Sicilians lynched in the South

      along with Africans

      in the fields, the railroads, the mines

      the children and grandchildren of slaves

      worked at our sides

      taught us American life

      were thought good people, even friends

In America over the years

Sicilians stayed quiet    spoke English

      learned to stand apart

      from those darker sisters and brothers

Sicilians passed to that lighter

      opportunity side of the color line

In America now

some of the Black Madonna’s children

      have forgotten her

      ignorant of their roots

      they check the box for white on every form

      no longer aware

      that they are of mixed blood

      the mongrel heirs

      to a proud people of every feature

I cannot forget

when even my teeth tell our story

I will not forget

I have prayed at the Black Madonna’s

      ancient, wind-swept shrine at Tindari

I am Sicilian

I am not white.

Maria Fama