Poems about Immigration

Juanito

This story starts at a town The name of the man Juan

The Name

Oh that “America” starts with “A” A sign of starting anew Perhaps that’s why each new immigrant

I am a child of the Americas, A fusion of the rich culture of Italy Defining me only begins with my heritage

"The Wet"

The Wet feels like dying, The Wet is wet from crying, The Wet bulk loading the undocumented

Five floors, a cherry tree, and my room on top. I ran down the stairs. I kissed the empty hall goodbye.

We came here to work, not to steal, We are dreamers, not robbers,

i. Feed the dog tortillas con leche tongue laps creamand corn

I AM

I am music and one of a kind I wonder if I am not myself who would I be?

KCML

Split by countless miles Through messages in files They share such feelings

The rain slowly falls, I quickly run for shelter. I see you sitting there, alone. You look my way and your eyes beg me for a minute.

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