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Yasmine Patel ’23

it might be strange to see a brown girl
in this neighborhood-
sitting on her driveway
bent over in concentration
wiping the sweat off her brow
and replacing it with a layer of colored chalk 
that blanketed her calloused hands. 
the white people pass by in their trucks 
roll down their windows, 
and look out to see what task is so 
alluring 
so fascinating 
where she won’t even look away from the ground
to see the passerby’s. 
they might roll their eyes and keep driving
disgusted by the flag 
that she carefully sketches
on the blacktop. 
the little kids who walk past her
might just see a rainbow, 
and start to excitedly search 
for the pot of gold that follows. 
but she never looks up. 
even after she lays down her chalk, 
claps her hands together and forms
a hazy cloud of color and dust. 
even after she carefully writes in block letters
“happy pride month.” 
she only looks up at the white man before her
who gawks at the letters she scribbled on her driveway. 
she laughed-
obviously amused at his discomfort
and gathered up her box of chalk and walked away
leaving the man staring after her 
in a mixture of awe and confusion.