June after June, our mamas wave their yellow shawls from the balcony and ask usĀ not to play too long in the sun. Our people do not tan, they'd say, we only grow too brown. I think about our girlsĀ relegated to the shade. I think about summer as a softening peach and a thick, molasses kind of love in its pit and brown girls being denied a bite. I think about sugar in the frying pan ā about sizzle, about white becoming caramel, about all the sweetest things only growing sweeter in the heat.Ā I think about the sunĀ and the way it ripens and also forgives. About its fire growing arms and holding our girls by their cheeks and whispering into their mouths: I do not bite. I do not bite. I think about letting this benevolent sun swallow my skin and about this being the perfect way to rest, my brown and the soil as one. I think about epitaph ā here lies Ramna,Ā she played too long in the sun.
Growing Dark | Ramna Safeer

















