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Immigrants
of my land
You make
Americans
believe they alone
are
Americans
You traverse
the chaos
of American borders
You are the human
wire-cutters
saving our land
with us
from the razor barbed-wire
twisted around our wrists
sunk into the hip of our continent
tighter and tighter
till your blood explodes
from the American wrists.
Immigrants
Indians all
invisible,
cross-fertilizing
hope and fear
into strength
with no way out
except life
*
Ah mis fronteas
Ah mis dulces
Fronteras
amargas
realidades
donde los indios
invisibles
cruzan
tenue
espinadorsal
un ejército
de polvo
un abrazo
de vientos
una raíz
clandestine
derrocando
muros
inhumanos.
*
the quilt of farmwokers
wraps around and on top of the land
patches of green,
canals
and dusty roads
surrounded by planks
Yet my farmworkers
die in the desert
freeze in the winter
starve in the spring
are lost in the autumn
yellow leaves
yellow eyelids
yellow skin
yellow tears
yellow suns
Where is the quilt
to wrap around
the sore shoulders
of my farmworkers,
Where?
The horizon
curves
around my arms
the hip where humanity
suckles
now smooth
now flaying
in the sun
Only farmworkers and Indians
can dance with the sun
to give us another day
to rescue ourselves and our world
from those who take the quilt
for their own
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