I had the worst terrors last night
My mind was in a gruesome sight
The ‘ol apocryphal scene
Insighted by the new regime
Migration bill stirs fear among
Farmworkers chant that It’s Wrong!
Phone app saves Honduran journalist
Can’t go back she’s on their death list
Can’t walk ‘n get food without stress
ICE is cold, enforcing arrests
Or anywhere, nonetheless
For a green card is meaningless
Now a tourist destination
Gaza's newest sensation
Take over plans for a Riviera
Palestine people’s tierra*
Taken; territory sovereign
New rich owner YOU ONLY gain
Who be the beneficiaries
Billionaire contemporaries
For undoence he’s called a hero
Those sacrificed their life for, zero
Those fought for everyone’s freedom
In vain forgotten in this new kingdom
Unbeknownst me how it plays out
Living in the USA, peace-out
Entry of a Honduran-American
My heart beats to the rhythm of my mother’s homeland.
My eyes search for the similarities of the lands of the ones I am in & the land that I cherish.
My lips taste the fruits and don’t quite reach the length of the smile from the ones I have tried.
They tell me, ‘but you are American,’ I tell them ‘no, I am what I choose to be.’
They tell me, ‘you don’t look Hispanic.’ I tell them, ‘neither can you see my blue blood.’
They tell me, ‘it is much better here.’ I tell them, ‘it is much different there.’
I hold dear the memories of the scattered homes on the mountains, brightly lit beacons of hope.
You know you love a land when you even love the rooster that crows every morning.
My heart beats to the rhythm of Honduras.
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