Letter to America
pardon
the lag
in writing you
we were left
with few
letters
in your home
we were cast
as rugs
sometimes
on walls
though we
were almost
always
on floors
we served
you as
a table
a lamp
a mirror
a toy
if anything
we made
you laugh
in your kitchen
we became
another pan
even now
as a shadow
you use us
you shoot us
you mourn us
you deny us
and despite
everything
we
continue
being
us
America
understand
once and for all:
we are
the insides
of your body
our faces
reflect
your future
by Francisco Alarcón
from After Aztlan, Latino Poets of the Nineties
publisher David R. Godine 1992