Siblings All

I am not Emmit Till
child martyr.
Not the Scottsboro boys,
nor Sacco and Vanzetti.
I am not Mumia,
" Live from death row."
or Leonard Peltier
grown old.
I am not the ghost
of Joaquin Murietta-
nor Ruben Salazar.
I am a woman,
Eurasian,
born and raised here,
in the United States
to middle- class parents.
But is this a condition
equating success?
Does it guarantee me
a generous slice
of " The American Dream?"
I'll never know,
for early on I aligned
myself
with the other side...
with the downtrodden
and maligned.
And so,
my name
can be added to those lists
of the sung
and unsung.
And so,
despite color,
class
and gender
we,
they and I
are siblings all.

This poem is about: 
Me

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