a child of immigrants
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A five hour flight to my next destination
happy yet fearful will it live up to my expectations?
We hop of the plane
on a nugget shaped island so beautifully named
St. vincent and the grenadines
In a quiet room, stars descending down
Hung on strings, fashioned from old planet’s rings
An alarm beeps, much before all the town
A sleeps boy awakes, groggily sings
ominescent presences I
thought my mountains my
giants my guardian
angels would remain overlooking me
like heaven above but
I see them clearer when
they shrink
down
down
down
Madre, why can't you go visit Mexico?
Madre, why did my uncle get taken away for going 5 miles over the limit?
Madre, why are you so scared of this so called migra?
Madre, why can't we just live like everyone else?
