Category Archives: Poetry

Apology to an ICE Officer

Sandra Figueroa

I’m sorry for pledging allegiance to your flag of the United States of America.
I thought it was my flag too, since I never knew any other.
I’m sorry for eating a home cooked meal made by mamá.
I didn’t know I had to eat fast food by myself.
I’m sorry for my brownskin.
I tried covering it with baby powder, but it didn’t work.
I’m sorry for my accent.
I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed a second language.
I want to sincerely let you know how bad I feel for disrespecting you.
My culture teaches me to apologize for my errors.

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The Man on Temple Street Hill

 Jason Pech

 

He sits alone on a staircase,

that cuts through a small hill.

In a world unlike our own

—It is known only by those within, that zone.

—It is a realm of deep delusion.

—it is frightening and fantastic

—swirls & visions,

—too difficult for

—The orderly mind—

                      —to comprehend.

—Stand now if you ever dare to stand

within the torn, worn, an’ blistered black feet of he—

What we deem as an ordinary walk through the concrete jungle

Is a great and arduous pilgrimage

On gashed, muddy, and bloody knees.

Barreling sound all around,

a great palette of voices surround and crowd

the mind—

like that of the

foot traffic among these gargantuan monuments of glass.

— utterly unable, unwilling to end their incessant chatter.

—The only antidote for the constant seems to be acknowledgment of

—the deafening rainbow.

—the world moves fast,

people’s movement become a blur.

How simple it is to get lost in the hysteria of it all.

—this quickened pace of the race, will amaze

—a taste of paranoia —

Much now unseen today as yesterday

Genuine or not

Pushed into a blind spot

No sorry none, repeat.

—the portable chemical factory

Offends and simultaneously beats away hunger

—we who lie on the urban rot

—build homes of tattered tarpaulin,

and take in the view of

Castles in the clouds.

They Say

Karen Cruz

“I’ll change this…
take out that and maybe
one or two may suffer”
Not only one will get hurt
Let others have a voice
You can’t make us believe

Take me out of this
Abandon change
Keep this going on for long
Eventually we’ll give up
So long, we fought

On a battle to be heard
No one gets what they really want
Eventually together we will forget

For a change

My Own American Dream

Sandra Figueroa

When I was three, I wanted to be an Arabian Princess.
When I was five, I wanted to be a mermaid.
When I was ten, I wanted to be a documented child.
Was that too much to ask for?  Yes, yes it was.
At such a young age, I felt the discrimination
Against me and my family.  Against my people.
I felt scared, worthless, and lost.
This was just the beginning.

Three years later I found out I was going to be adopted.
I was going to be separated from my family to become legal; it didn’t work.
I felt frightened, hopeless, and lost.
Two years later, my parents’ regrets grew stronger.
Their concerns about my fate grew more since
I would be turning eighteen soon.
I felt terrified, mindless, and lost.

Now I’m seventeen years old. I still want to be documented.
I no longer worry about being put up for adoption in order to fix my legal status.
Yet I still worry about my fate and hope that
once I turn eighteen my life has changed.
When I turn twenty, I want to say,
“when I was eighteen I became a legal child.”

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