My Accent it My Anchor to Myself
A POEM about immigrant experience
Spanish, blue
English, yellow
My song? green
In a global world
full of colorful melodies
you’d think
combined tones
make a beautiful song
You love our Frida
hard labor, Sarapes and food
But reject my song as unsound
even when I speak loud, clear,
reaching for and almost getting to
perfection
exceeding expectations
Or so I thought. . .
Yet, my hint of green
gets lost on its way
to greet
your ears
trained to listen and believe
only tales told in pristine yellow
Even when I shed my skin
and wear a suit to
suit your expectations of
the sound of a sound song
Until I forget to return
to my skin
at the end of a working day
Every. Single. Day
Almost de-hispanified
as I drown in
white supremacy’s tide
Mexicana is
smoke in the shadows
Whose existence
emerges from my depths
When my green song
rouses you to ask
“where are you from?”
