I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—

I, too, am America.

We are first to cover our hearts
with our hands, sing “My Country,
’Tis of Thee,” and wear la Americana flag shorts.
We swap Medalla for Budweiser. Go to Shoney’s
and order the all-you-can eat breakfast. No one
cares if we waste food as long as we leave a decent
tip and speak quietly. Leave La Isla’s conversaciones
at the kitchen table. We are encouraged to buy the biggest
trucks and waste gas. Take over the road and parking
spaces. People make way when they see us. What kind
of horsepower do you get? They admire strength.
We are told not to ask those back home to send us
pique and café. We should tamper our tongues
and get the mild options. We go to Starbucks
and get wild concoctions like unicorn berry frappuccino.
Everything tastes too sweet. But this, they say,
is the American way. Sugar. Sugar. More sugar.
Our coworkers just go ahead and call us JL
and AE because they butcher our real names
Josefa Luz and Agapito Efraín. Everyone goes by some
initials anyway, they claim. Look at JFK and MLK.
Juanito is Buddy. Everyone here gets a nickname too.
We are forgetting the cuentos about the iguana thief.
Now, it’s blah, blah, blah about parking as wide
as bedrooms. Rows and rows of different types
of water in stores. Community meetings with five
different types of cake and strawberry swirl ice cream.
Everything is so sweet, but they give us plates
swathed in foil. It is the American way.
Some signs say English only, no Spanish allowed.
There is the look to keep our rolling rrrrrs to ourselves.
Pronounce rice so that it doesn’t sound like fries.
Remember it’s soup or salad (not super salad).
And delete the word focus from our vocabulary
(it always sounds like fuck us). The waiter smiles
when we leave a nice tip. Because tipping is the American
way. Please come again. Take some mints. Here are the toothpicks.
Goodies on the way out. How nice. How American.
The junk mail is bigger and brighter. The flyer
from the neighborhood dentist pops orange in chili pepper
font with promises to make teeth white, white, white!
The flyer comes with a coupon, a special, something
on sale. How can it be any more American than that?

We carry tears in our eyes: good-bye father, good-bye mother

We carry soil in small bags: may home never fade in our hearts

We carry names, stories, memories of our villages, fields, boats

We carry scars from proxy wars of greed

We carry carnage of mining, droughts, floods, genocides

We carry dust of our families and neighbors incinerated in mushroom clouds

We carry our islands sinking under the sea

We carry our hands, feet, bones, hearts and best minds for a new life

We carry diplomas: medicine, engineer, nurse, education, math, poetry, even if they mean nothing to the other shore

We carry railroads, plantations, laundromats, bodegas, taco trucks, farms, factories, nursing homes, hospitals, schools, temples…built on our ancestors’ backs

We carry old homes along the spine, new dreams in our chests

We carry yesterday, today and tomorrow

We’re orphans of the wars forced upon us

We’re refugees of the sea rising from industrial wastes

And we carry our mother tongues
爱(ai)，حب  (hubb), ליבע (libe), amor, love
平安 (ping’an), سلام ( salaam), shalom, paz, peace
希望 (xi’wang), أمل (’amal), hofenung, esperanza, hope, hope, hope

As we drift…in our rubber boats…from shore…to shore…to shore…

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.