I have a huge nose.
I can say it.
My nose takes up space,
And it has a bump,
And it’s crooked.
My father gave me his nose,
And his curly hair,
And his big lips,
And his mother’s uneven eyes.
Whenever I look at old photos,
I confuse myself with my grandmother,
I lose sight of my face in the mirror.
As an Egyptian woman born in the 1930’s.
She saw a lot with her eyes.
She saw revolution, and reconstruction,
Even from within.
They are also my father’s eyes.
The same eyes that raised me,
That wiped the tears from mine and held me,
That wrapped me in his blanket and sang me to sleep.
But this poem is about his nose.
When i look in the mirror I see him,
But how can I hate myself, and love the parts that built me.
How can I hate my nose, but love my roots so unconditionally.
It’s not my nose.
It’s white supremacy
Its bad connotations of words like big and wide.
Colonization of the mind.
My nose is big,
And it’s me,
And my family.
My nose is ugly.
And it’s beautiful.