Poems about Immigration

Wounds

In a day, a week, a month, a year wounds doze, they sleep they disappear, but this wound is

Walking at dawn through the city without a recent map seems strange.

Prestera. men varför? - Makulera. men vad då? för att etablera mig, nya versionen som ändå klänger och sträcker sitt håll på minnes handt

This is a new Jim Crow era, a new ugly system of Apartheid Is going on in America, a crime that we're unwilling to hide.

Purpose of life By: Alondra Martinez-V The Instructor said,

The Tower lies in rapturous silence, The Margalite Palace ready themselves for wrath and ruin,

It Seems That MISINFORMATION’s Emanating From Stations... From Food To Education To This Corona Situation... !!!

It started with a box. Left in that parking lot.

One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like lilies On water; it glides

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I think he knows I’m alive, having come down The three steps of the back porch

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