"Hola mi amigo"
That is how they greed us
in the states, but
don't blame them, because
we are the Latino's lost twin

Next time
don't let them
judge the book by it's cover
tell them that within the book
it reads:

we are pohnpei
the garden island in the pacific
on the map
we are midnight stars
in broad daylight, but
through the lens of a telescope
one shall be blinded by our beauty

for we are

sweet harmonies of birds singing
before sunrise, and
sweet perfumes of island flora
pouring through your nostrils
we are reflection of sunsets
stretching out into the open sea
glittering, like
diamonds beneath the sunlight
we are children in Christmas
crowding along the roads
clutching onto plastic bags
waiting joyfully for Santa
to ride into town and
rain candies on them
we are dusty old tires
diving and splashing into
muddy pool *** holes
on a paved road
we are coconut milk
leaking through
the valley of ten fingers
wedded in a shape of a ball
and pouring onto breadfruits
we are wooden hulls of canoes
smashing through the waves
like a bull through a red cape
we are grandmothers telling
ancient local tales to her kids
and fathers showing his sons
how to become island men
we are the powerful kava
repeatedly pounded on a flat stone
forming a liquid
brown as a chocolate milk
and when one drinks
the world suddenly becomes
a quiet peaceful place
we are pig meats
heated beneath flaming rocks
covered with banana leaves

we are proud and peaceful
we bow to show respect towards
one another, visitors and their highness
we have five kings
and we are one
our home abounds with mysteries
but we see what is behind the cover
some of us have left
to pursue their curiosities
but we will always be one
and when the rain
falls on a sunny day
we understand that
one of us is at peace

we don't have any museums
but we see our history through
Nan Madol
we don't have any towers
but we see our lands from
towering mountains
and we have seen them
burnt to ashes, but
we survived, and
we never left...

The ugly poetess
Over the housetops,
Above the dry blades of the sugar cane husks
I have known fear, I have known hunger
I felt the pain of a nail wound deep in my foot
I belted out the blues like Nina Simone
An era of reform: the moments of truth,

On top of the hill, lies a village in Barbados
Acid rain, rooftop leaks on to my bed
It was a rough year:
only food sources were rice and breadfruits
We lived through it all:

It was my destiny:
To love and to hate them:
those old fruit loops

Through the eyes of a uprising poet
The curving of his pen,
Somehow, he made amends, he purge
the smoky air,
the disgusting sight of the pig pens
out of his mind

lack of personal dental hygiene,
the elders lost their teeth
Grinding down on sugarcane, while they
awaits the big meal of the day
Supper!

With innocent eyes and achy feet
I read so many books for inner peace

My stomach was empty,
but my mind was at ease
To dream big while aiming high

Marlene, Delores, and Linda
Known as the vanishing three
Migrated to North America
Where a Barefooted child
like me wasn’t supposed to be
Eventually, I know I would have followed

I have woven my feathers,
while looking upwards,
In my little corner under the old rusty galvanizes
.
At the old country shop the vanishing three mothers
told me that I wasn’t pretty enough to leave the island
Words of hatred, mere words of discomfort
I felt my wings tighten against my rib cage,
My tongue, glued against my jaws

From that day forward the poet smile against stupidity
And spitefulness, she too had come to
Eat her words, the old shopkeeper

The poetess enter another line from that era
Uncaring beauty without brains
Where are they now?

I walked with confident down that street
The misty air moist my skin
The poetess return to the Island of Barbados
Without the sugar in her blood..
.