Color Blind

I dream of the sun spiraling close
enough to warm my bones, to
toast my skin velvet color brown
Brown as milk chocolate or coffee
lightened with cream
Brown as sand wet with an ocean wave
or a color of Teak after polish
brings out a sheen
I look out my study window
and study a tree missing a limb
lopped off after a storm left it
limp. Its severed cream slice
faces a waning sun
I dream of my grandson— whose
deep brown skin speaks of African
ancestors and ships and a dark past
I imagine a melding of shades,
a palate of hues
from chalk white to ebony