"At Hugo Salinas and his uncle Alcides Andrade’s house. The Statue of Liberty has been brought from the U.S. to El Salvador, Intipucá. September, 2017."
Photograph from Welcome to Intipucá City by Koral Carballo, Anita Pouchard Serra and Jessica Ávalos
“It’s OK.”
I hear the West singing
this twisted tune,
“Without any action, this migratory influx will be like the barbarian invasion of the fourth century, and the consequences will be the same.”
Yet,
I, Too, hear the
Annihilated anthem of the Chemist
whose home in Homs
was razed by President Putin as the world watched him
raise with glee his golden World Cup. The
Missing melody of the Taxi Driver
whose kids will never come home
because Kony kidnapped them
for his kid killing army in the kid killing jungle. The
Last lullaby of the Professor
whose babies burn bad
as Aung San Suu Kyi sits and watches
the flames glisten on the golden face of her Nobel Peace Prize. The
Stone silent psalm of the Hair Stylist
whose exodus to freedom
ended
in Libya when they crushed her beneath brown bricks and sold her as a slave. The
Posthumous prayer of the Painter
whose funeral was flush with flowers from the Bonesaw Prince,
the kind shaped like missiles
that smell of apathy when they bloom red, white, and blue. The
Chattering chorus of the Computer Scientist
whose family was threatened with death
if they stayed at home any longer.
“It's OK” said the golden toothed Mara Salvatrucha man. Because
Everyone hears these songs.
Yet,
the borders stay closed
because
We, Too, say
“It's OK”
And when we go home
to light and luck
We sing about
“Our”
misfortunes?
"Camels in a patch of vegetation in the Gobi, southern Mongolia."
Photograph by Bruno Morandi
The Ballad Of A Young Boy
Long ago a baby was born,
His name was Temujin.
Blood, blood, blood in his hands,
A warrior for next of kin.
Early-on with father he went to town,
To meet his future bride.
But then, poison. Poison found father,
And soon enough he died.
When Temujin found home he lost,
Mother and all his sisters.
Tribe, tribe, tribe kicked them out,
They walked until they blistered.
For weeks they lived in blizzards they froze,
Heads barren with no hats.
The snow was life and when it wasn't,
They ate roots. They ate rats.
Temujin had half a brother,
And Begter was his name.
They fought until Temujin struck,
This fight was not a game.
Begter died and Temujin lived,
The ox moaned. The hawks sang.
But then the tribe of father came,
And threw him in a cangue.
Temujin was now a slave but
Hope was not at all lost.
A guard felt bad so out he went,
He was free! At no cost!
Temujin set out to be married,
Seeking tribal unity.
But then the Merkits took his wife,
Risking their immunity.
Indeed they made a big mistake,
For Temujin sought blood.
With the help of a friend they killed,
The bodies drowned in mud.
When the Merkits fell and wife returned,
A shaman told a tale.
Temujin, was to have the world,
Never, would he grow frail.
Every man and woman was certain,
A new kingdom, would dawn.
Its new leader would be ruthless,
His name was Genghis Khan.
When I am
stressed I feel
sick like a suburban home in the seventies.
left out
side effects I feel too
behind like good-for-you cigarettes
burnt out
hang
ing.
I feel angry
like cheap plastic
spastically
left out
on the stupid front lawn in the sun. I want to be
more alive
like a new Cadillac Eldorado
broken down
with purpose.
almost like a nutritious and delicious TV-Dinner
but still all messed up
like that old “Daisy” ad on that rectangular September day
when I am
stressed.
"in the heart of darkness"
Photograph by Morgan Maassen
Imagine, If The Ocean Were Ice Cream
Imagine,
Scooping the deep sherbert blue
Watching as the sugar frothed at the turquoise fringes in
Bubbly waves of seafoam
Imagine,
Tasting the bone chilling cold on your
Tongue
Waiting for that frigid paralysis
To end
So you could finally start
Savoring each minute marine organism
Every granulate of plankton
Like they were little gems of dark chocolate
Tiny agates of salted caramel
Gripping at your taste
Like a blinded sea star to an oceanic rock face
Imagine,
Discovering pockets of lush tidepools
Overflowing with snails and sashaying anemones
Like they were the living realms of flavor
Of pretzel and walnuta
Marshmallow and mint
Hiding in the mix all along
Imagine,
Digging deep into the ocean floor and
Realizing the fluidity of the sand
Its lightness
Like it was the especially churned cream you had been
Saving for last at the bottom
The best of the batch just
Waiting to be swallowed whole like a
School of silver sardines at the brink of the gaping abyss
Belonging to the mouth of a salivating
Shark
Top all that with a rich crust
A cliffscape battered by seawinds for so long
It crumbles under your chattering
Jaws
Nestles deep into your molars
Like it was a hermit crab too small for his own
Shell
Imagine,
If the ocean were
Ice cream
Thanks for sticking around. I would love your feedback.
Thank you!
