La Frontera and The Proposal


La Frontera

All my people

Brown like river

Cold beneath the stars

Dead in the deserts of Juárez.

All my people

Eagar to work,

Fear the coyote that

Grabs their hope:

“Hablan Ingles

In the United States…

Juntos podemos!” Naïve to the

Kilos of coca beneath the seats.

All my people

La frontera y el rio

Mark bloodlines of

No return.

All my people

Old and young, reborn

Premature and unprepared

Quieren lo que todos queremos:




All my people

Under the sun

Ver esperanza perdida

With every shovel swung…

Xenophobia follows

You, to the gates of       





The Proposal

I’ve lain on my back in the rain more than the

average person: On a rooftop, where tears are best

washed by natural showers.

In a wheat field where drops became jewels glittering

yellow stalk and the soil wept in delight as

droughted sins were cleansed.

I’ve lain in the dirt waiting for mud to form around my

neck and fingertips—staring into the eyes of Pisces.

And in the bed of my truck, holding her hand,

just before I asked.