Do you hear them too? he asked.
the soft whispers of the abandoned
the musings of a memory long forgotten
the promise of a hope that’s yet to come.

Do you hear that wailing?
the sound of shattering dreams
tearing the skin, marking its presence
another drop in the ocean, another scream.

Walk away from it all, leave it behind
this is not a place one should visit
but how far can you go away
when it is your prison, you are in it.

The sunlight passing through is a lie
fettered to the sky, like you and your bars
close your eyes, but the wailing doesn’t stop
cut everything out, but that feeling won’t pass.

The strange fear in your heart will grow
choking, till you breathe in that pain
till you open those eyes and see
the misery that this life is the new mundane.

Look back and remember the past
Were you ever free? Ever able to fly?
If you were, would you just be like Icarus?
Shot down, with no one to hear your cry?

With each passing moment, the fetters will grow
till you forget what they really were for
with each passing moment, the cage will shrink
till you forget what you had lived for.

The Garden of Eden was never the truth
a memory simply woven out of sand
when the sea of time had waited enough
the tides washed away the promised land.

6/21/2018

The night is alive with possibility
The suspense is killing me
Lightning strikes a pose
And thunder comes to me
deeply
Seeping through atmosphere
Home is here
Home is where a gaze holds you safe and a shoulder keeps you steadfast
Cognitive dissonance
I cannot live with this policy ripping through my arteries, this image won’t stop coming to me
A 9-months old baby
In an orange jumpsuit
In a cage in a city
Unclaimed, unwritten, undocumented, unforgiven for the sins of colonialism
Unforgivable
Where were you when ****** branded the Jews?
Then you are accountable too

American dreamer.
Southern border divide,
holding me back.
A new hope,
I dream to seek.
An escape from the land I once knew,
A place that just isn't meant for me.

Strange views,
The mainland holds.
Keeping me from something new.
I promise I'm not here to take anything from you.
I understand laws.
I understand policies.
But I'll give you anything for a hand.

Strange views.
Your word doesn't match your action.
How terrible for my copper skin brothers and sisters.
Not a chance for them to live.
Not a change for them to believe in a new.
So take our land
and take our food.
Take our love
and our culture.
But leave us in cages left to rust.

Strange views
of babies in tears
and the smell of fear
coming from grieving mothers and fathers.
As their babies are now out of sight,
separated.
What a strange view to see.
Why does this seem so familiar to me?

Sitting in a circle itchy patchy cross legged
hearing the feet passing the scratchy
the whoosh brush of almost hands
at our backs

Sparrows tumbled from my throat,
which is to say that my Grandfather is on the phone
and my Spanish is not what it used to be.
I spin silky yarns across the sea
of an American Dream he’s only seen in telenovelas.
He wants to know what mom left home for
so I fill sidewalk cracks with 24 karat gold
and turn graffiti into stained glass marvels.
He drinks in my descriptions like communion wine,
savors each syllable like it’s the crimson Blood of Christ
and I pray that he believes me.
God, I pray that he believes.
The heat hasn’t worked for weeks
but I paint him a fireplace,
a winding spiral staircase,
a home mud could never dream of.
I don’t mention the growing mold
or how when it rains, it leaks,
or the landlord tired of bounced checks
or how mom cries when she thinks i’m asleep
but through the sprawling, tangled wires
i’ll give abuelo the world, and tonight,
he’ll sleep better than ever before.