She was like a mediterranean rain, her skin dark like a night in the sahara, and her heart as warm and humid as the caribbean. She was strong and serene and saw racism as something to slay. She knew that her skin meant danger for others, and she killed them with patience. She waited for the day that a little black boy like Rice would be okay. She was no threat but she was change. As she sat and prayed for the day brown wouldn’t cause hate.