On the white sand a lonely dark lock she stands br and clouds over head a rich fragrant smell. br More butter brown but darker to me she is yet br and the buckets I carry, br grow too heavy for her to lift so I Am. br br Why can it not be for a tree that cracks the earth br like when a shovel moves the soil br and squatting over the bushes leaves a rich br something like a pealed banana br and it is a secret, I need never to touch it she does. br br br In my hand are the acorns I came across br I toss them up and down looking she is I am keen to show br but I remember from my childproof world br that the pine tree has different looking roots br why some can become lost in the coiling majestic oaks br climbing down over the lips to drift just over them once. br br Singing under my breath I wonder what ever became br of my grandmothers whale bone button, yellow with age br when last I saw it the holes evenly spaced were the br woman even then, br thinking back to my nannies cold milk and her daughter. br br My skin next to hers seamed more like butter pecan br than plain chocolate and vanilla, br and lemongrass upon which when we earned our iced tea. br Her buttocks know now and knowing I'm white would I mention.