Los Angeles March for Immigrant Rights Molly Adams // Flickr CC License / AFSC
There is a Light in each of us,
yet, still, we question our worth:
“How is it that they are more free than me –
aren’t we all people of earth?”
But she is from a troubled land –
scathed from the stampede of corruption
and a tainted past,
and a soiled present,
and a muddied future
In d r e a m s her aunt tells her, “we must go”
and holds her hand
tight
to stop her knees from knocking together at the border
on the other side, way opens
there is opportunity on the horizon
hidden by heavy clouds
her aunt’s hand squeezes tighter
as she repeats under her breath that America is synonymous with free
that America “is every immigrant’s drea-”
but the words lodge in her throat
when work is hard to find
when their language isn’t “right”
when threat after threat hurtle out of The White House
and the dream before them catches on fire
and in a sudden it burns to the ground
behind bright flames there is a coldness they cannot shake
she awakes
nothing about this moment feels “safe”
Again, their wellbeing is being targeted;
their protection punctuated with an asterisk
all along “safe” had been just a mirage
with each case of immigrant eviction
mounting fear grips them with an iron fist
the land that had seemed to kiss their feet
now bites them instead
like unwilling civilians being drafted for war
one by one people are being called
It is a fox hunt;
A game that has been rigged from the start
with bowed heads they pray
their hands once again joined
hope is the song on their lips
when safety goes astray
community is all they have
when discrimination pervades