Poetry: two untitled pieces


a year ago my heart fell
to the ground
crashing to a million little pieces.
i’m making it whole again
mending it back together in the stillness of a park
my back separated from the earth only by the thin plastic
of a tent
I call home now.

my people
have farmed your lands
cleaned your toilets
we’ve taken care of your gringo kids
picked your food
and worked jobs no one will take
not worth a peso
we have paid our taxes
and quietly go on about our day
never demanding our dues
you sit on your lazy boys with your microwave dinner
your poster slogan politics while watching Glen scribble on his chalkboard
drawing the white lines of hate that paint my people in caricature
you make sure to take notes so you can share your narrow conclusions with the rest of us
according to you
we don’t pay taxes
we rape
drain the welfare system
and take your shitty jobs
I want you to know
we crossed the Rio Grande on bare feet
while my father worked three jobs so he could pay the Coyote
my young mother alone in the dark with her three children
all our possessions in our back pocket
in the dark we walked for what seemed like an eternity until we saw their flash lights
the moon shining on their black rifles

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