A poem inspired by the militarization of the border as well as the Chicano Movement.

Las hierlas

Somewhere, there’s an ossuary obscured by the waning breaths of trembling adolescents, seized as ‘miscreants’

Their breaths and whispers are faint, as the frothy sheerness of clouds which egress from their lips

A young woman’s blackened nails quiver along to her nearly idle heart beat, dear shepherd, you are nothing but a flippant bastard 

Dear shepherd, I know that you chose to incite each one of their caustic oscillations to stir faster

Never mind that their mothers recoil, as they silently pray for their blood to spiral back into their vessels

Never mind  that their desiccant tongues become tied as ribbons

Voices muted like turbid ambiance 

Wrought with the recollections and apparitions of their lovers and homes

And a  dream of pilgrimage 

    to    rounds each corner

                             one foot toward Aztlán

                                    one step toward the fragmented quarters, of each  and every wayfarer

(Not your carpenter) 

 (Not a dweller of this penitentiary)