a child of immigrants
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A five hour flight to my next destination happy yet fearful will it live up to my expectations? We hop of the plane on a nugget shaped island so beautifully named St. vincent and the grenadines
In a quiet room, stars descending down Hung on strings, fashioned from old planet’s rings An alarm beeps, much before all the town A sleeps boy awakes, groggily sings
ominescent presences I thought my mountains my giants my guardian angels would remain overlooking me like heaven above but I see them clearer when they shrink down down down
Madre, why can't you go visit Mexico? Madre, why did my uncle get taken away for going 5 miles over the limit? Madre, why are you so scared of this so called migra? Madre, why can't we just live like everyone else?