shades of red

imperial red;

A tiny window was the door to
buildings with pointed heads,
honey colored with a touch of
a dreamy trance.

Courtyards with serenity
decorated on the veins of the
trees, along narrow cobbled lanes of
chestnut and a sense of being at home.

A certain calm reigns the
city as the trees blow the dance
of two royals.

The city of Oxford was a book in itself;
architecture was Oxford's middle name as
sharp angles and neutral colors brought the
book into the eyes of tourists and young
people eager to learn the corners of their
very own Hogwarts.

I looked into the mirror and saw a girl of
long, thick raven-black hair, braided to frame
my firm jaw, structured with resistance to
ambiguity; mother always did tell me to never
hide behind my satin hair, no matter how much the
world wanted me too.

My fingers lifted up to trace my lips,
thicker than anyone's in the family;
darker than anyone's in the family.

My eyebrows furrowed a nest of
unruly hairs which had to be plucked
and brushed daily unlike the thin golden
hairs resting on mother's face.

My eyes blinked a hazy dark brown,
as if I stole all of the melanin in
the entire world.

As if I stole it from my family's
whose eyes were a crystallized blue,
colder than the nights that Oxford experienced.

I remembered when the lady dropped me off
in front of the footsteps of the copper house and
the man and his wife stepped out; their skin
contrasted so brightly with the house's
and once I stepped onto the little steps,
I blurred in with the walls.

But I never blurred during family
gatherings where Grandma pointed
at me and spoke with venom to my mother,
who shook her head and waved her away.

Cousins were never cousins. Only strangers
visiting during the holidays. Someone who
needed a place to stare at me under the twinkling
house lights.

There are days where I wonder if my
biological parents sit by themselves and think
of where I am in the world or will they confuse
me as not their daughter because of the accent
that I have grabbed from the city that smells like
fall every single day?

I am a creation of Oxford as I blend in with the
tones and the sweet smell of industrialized nature.

I am Rose, a name given to me by my mother who
thought that my first name was too harsh for me; a
reminder of my biological mother.

I am Rose.