Loving the skin I'm in

I see her
in the mirror
a chubby
cheeked
ruddy
imp
she looks back at me
through dark, almond-shaped eyes
a gaze of intensity
-a woodland nymph,
a sprite,
mischievous elf.
I've come to accept her
though we've had our battles
my youthful rebellions
against the self
futile
I know
although
I turned from my father's
Nordic look
our Germanic coloration
I longed to be "other" of a faraway nation-
(as my mother) 
( reminiscences of lost Sumer, Scythia...)

Always assumed Anglo
I'm not
not at all
and I recall
how my half sister,
older cousin
were never confronted
with that assumption.
Still, they were asked
and often
"What are you?"
Middle Eastern
Greek
Gypsy
Indian even?
And I think of them
women
on my mother's side of
the family
permanently tanned
dark-haired
exotic
echoing the East
the Hungarian's dimly remembered
lineage
of tribal people
nomads
warrior horsemen
galloping from Asia.
I too, am they
I've the fire
if not the look...
freckle-faced child
carrot-topped
funny now
how
I longed for
raven blue-black
hair- thick
and luxurious, shining
still, I'm
fair
not caramel skinned
-a light beige
not cappuccino
nor toffee
and I've a wispy,
windblown
mess
my covering like crepe
a splotchy
fragile parchment
crinkled
and wrinkled
prematurely
by this desert's
unforgiving
sun
-that burning blaze...
And I'm amazed
at how
with time
peace came
and with it understanding
to love the skin
we're in
it's not replaceable
we aren't capable of shedding
as a snake does-
its outgrown hide
so grow
pride
and realize that all
bloodlines are a blessed birthright-
uniquely beautiful.