Chicano Poet

Thursday, September 04, 2008


Do the meteors crash into earth
looking for Mexicans and their descendants?

If so, that must be us.
The world shakes our barrio,

we will never be weightless.
Our legends won’t pause in a single shadow.

Our beauty has passed.
The slashed heart finally perfect.

The moon has no friends
as so many will attest to.

Brownness intermingled with autumn,
leaves separated from leaves

as trees march to a different drummer.
My weapon is your portion.

The lateness of courage my distinction.
Oh, wounded noise of a race.

I offered you my hand back then,
you lie in the dark and ask for it now.


At 8:27 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Bien hecho.

Esmeralda Bernal

At 12:31 AM, Blogger RC said...



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