Her hair is black as the midnight sky
Her skin the soft color of creamed coffee.
However, her drawl imparts visions of the old South, sweet tea, and pecan pie.
Her ancestors walked the lowlands of the Rio Grande,
Grew maza and hunted javalinas.
But her mother was born to the melody of Dixie, in the shade of a dogwood, 
With the sweet smell of azaleas drifting in the air. 
She is a contradiction,
Not wholly connected with her people but not belonging to those who she calls her own.
Her r’s roll off her tongue like a native speaker, with the articulation of a flamenco dancer
But her dreams are of castles on the moors and the stages of the great English playwrights.  
People say she has forsaken her motherland
But how can you forsake a land you never knew?
She denied her heritage because it was not hers,
It is not what raised her,
Nurtured her,
Wiped away her tears
When she did not know who she was.
It was the lily white hand of a woman who did not carry her in her womb
But created her in her heart
Made her the mess she is, 
Both good and bad. 
She is a brown – white girl,
An ambiguity that she hopes falls away with the passing of time,
The last of her line,
No longer here,
An obscurity that drifts away and becomes nothing.
Emily Anna Holinka Linares is originally from Nuevo Laredo, Tamps. but grew up in Brownsville, Texas. She is a full-time high school English teacher in Centerton, AR, and mother to three sons. She misses the Rio Grande Valley but knows in her heart one day she will be back to bask in her warmth.

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