¡Mamá! I shouted. It was so wonderful to see
someone familiar again.
The guards, white as abuela’s
mejillas, Stared at me as I ran
down The hallway of the
enclosure.
I saw my mamá and papá,
Tears in their eyes, We
sprinted towards each other,
As though we were
maratonistas Breaking
through the ribbon,At the
finish line.
Earlier this year, We had decided to go to
the land of the Gringos, Live the American
Dream – el Sueño Americano.
But mamá and papá were taken from
me – No, I was taken from them.
All of a sudden I felt these hands around me, As
though my abuelito was hugging me, His warm
chubby hands holding me As the smell of pan
dulce – sweet bread, engulfed us both.
But something was different about those hands,
They hurt.
I looked behind me and saw a man, half
hombre half toro.
I tried to pull away to no avail – And
screamed, “Mamá, papá
ayúdenme”
Suddenly memories flashed through my head The
tortillas we used to make together, The time we spent
looking at the sunset, at my favorite playa And the
smell of my abuelitos… And then the memories
disappeared.
It occurs to me now that I won’t be there
anymore, Under the sol mexicano, Laughing
and eating tamales with my cousins, Tíos,
tías, abuelos, abuelas, and other relatives.
And now I might never even fulfill the
so-called Sueño Americano.
We live in a country that advertises equality
But is that really the case?
Cases upon cases upon cases.
Most hardly even bat an eyelash
But some are viewed by the whole world
Two sides of the story
But only one is accepted
Women.
Fighting.
For their voices to finally be heard.
They don’t get any of the blame
But we do?
To us, they are loud and clear.
But to them, their screams cannot be heard from a mile away.
They ask what she was wearing.
They ask if she followed him into the room.
They ask if she lead him into the room.
They ask if she said no.
How is it always something we did?
But not them.
1942, the middle of World War II, a reign not so delight,
A silent barren street wraps around the diner tonight,
Just three figures remain and a few hours until twilight,
Even with empty mugs these nighthawks won’t take flight.
Phillie’s, the tank full of glow that seeps and pours,
To cast a reverse shadow all over the opposite floor,
And while everyone else in the city sleeps and snores,
Nocturnal nighthawks stay alert without pressure to soar.
Sales down as the bartender hasn’t a busy shift to attend,
But someday he knows times will have to mend,
But in the meantime everyone’s got plenty of time to spend,
Because it feels this night will never end.
The old town of Guangzhou
Falls
In stark contrast,
With its downtown.
The effect of the years
Clear to the eye
Like Son and Grandson
In the downtown,
There are
vibrant lights
From the skyline
That scatter
As it reflects off
Of the ripples
In the Pearl River But not the old town
You take the metro
And probe your way
Through
Like a mouse
In a maze
To reach
Your destination,
But not the old town.
There are
restaurants
situated on rooftops.
With chairs woven
Out of bamboo
Around wooden tables,
Lit by
Flickering candles, and
Fairy lights on drapes
That hang
From its canopy.
But not the old town.
In the old town,
There are old men
In white vests
Playing mahjong
Around raw stone tables.
There are
stores,
With white marble walls
And signs written
In unsimplified characters
Try, the spicy
ginger juice which
Crashes into
Creamy milk, this
Concoction
Leaves you
Craving
For more
There are
Tea houses
With hip-and-gable rooftops
That served people
From the last
Imperial dynasty.
Here, the sweet
And smooth
Keemun Black Tea
Leaves a malty aftertaste
And tells a tale
Of the city’s past
Do come to Guangzhou. It is a place,
That beckons
The whole world
To come over.
South of the long lake lies
A city surrounded by rock
A tower looms over the sky
Casting shadows over every block
Both lake and city are struck by storm
And thunder cracks as hail becomes thorns
Coastal waters rise and crash
As skyward islands start to quake
The calmest waves whip and thrash
And harrows the deep, blue lake
The tower stands devoid of pain
As buildings are befallen with rain
The ice cold water blitz urban sprawl
As rivers run down cracked asphalt
But bitter clouds won’t stay for long
As westerly winds push them on.
And civilization can start anew
The restart seems quite overdue