Dirty Rags

My family is scattered throughout the country, from coast to coast

Family reunions are filled with bussles and jumbles, frantically pushing throughout the states to reach my grandmamas house.

It's always been a blessing, to see my kin reunited

The seam of the quilt that stretches out, pulls us together, and knits us into a beautiful dark skinned wave of love

The first string, was laid when my grandmama immigrated into the United States

The second, was when she bought that home, the physical blessing that came from sweat that dripped from her back,

The third, when my uncle was born

And every day since then it has grown longer and thicker, more beautiful as the color spectrum spreads, the variety has begun to paint a picture on the canvas of my family, we are Latino

Yet more than ever I can tell the color of my skin

We're on our way to see her,

We're laid over in a state that is not ours

We're not used to seeing this many pale faces,

With eyes that pierce your chest

I can see the ignorance boiling in their blood

They cling to their purses when we walk by

And we wonder why we call them clutches

Murmur words like "dark skin" and "not from here"

It's getting harder to breath, but we are no longer on the plane so it's probably not the altitude

My eyes fog up faster than windshields on cold nights with heavy breaths

Our fists clench tighter than our jaws, both ready for the reaction of one another.  

We are a reaction waiting to happen

Inner combustions and outwardly implosions

We are a first page news column

5 ethnic men beat to death, are their mouths to blame?

Is it their fault for not looking down, for not staying silent, or trying to smile at them?

Did the crescent shaped moon remind you of my dark skin

Did my smile remind you too much of your kindness

Did the backdrop of my black hoodie remind you of the night you were born w so much privilege you forgot you had it

Did you beat me so I wouldn't forget how much privilege you have

How much I lack

How your life would be better without us

You beat at my white teeth

as if reclaiming the only white part of me

They say that in the South,

both Blacks and Latinos were lynched side by side

That the Poplar tree did not discriminate against the hung

(to be cont.)

[Written before the events in Ferguson, I will finish it soon]