Poems about Immigration
A curious silence
A desparate glare
She stands in the creek
The wind in her hair
Adios Ayacucho
Land that has taken my name and body and left me unrecognized and unrecognizable
Oh, how quick they were to try and suffocate the flames
On the sacred, seasoned, sanctuary known as Notre Dame.
Born in classic white suburbia,
The most American Dream of cities.
Gifted with white picket fences,
We entered through the back door.
I see a room.
A big metal cooler,
She went in and out a lot.