Poem-a-day

Immigrants

^{translated from the Spanish by}^{Anthony Geist}

White valleys
left behind:
they begin to turn into
rocks,
pine trees
and eagles.
Hundreds of years on the road.
On the way
my parents died.
On the way
my children will be born.

Los immigrantes

Valles blancos
han quedado atrás:
empiezan a transformarse
en rocas,
pinos
y águilas.
Cientos de años de viaje.
En el camino
han muerto mis padres.
En el camino
nacerán mis hijos.

read the rest

David Cruz

Previous Poems

Title	Author	Date
My Grandmother’s Love Letters	Hart Crane	07/21/2013
What's the railroad to me?	Henry David Thoreau	07/20/2013
Hotel Berlin	Cynthia Cruz	07/19/2013
For My Grandmother’s Perfume, Norell	Nickole Brown	07/18/2013
Goodnight Moon	James Arthur	07/17/2013
Inspire Hope	Amy Lawless	07/16/2013
from “In This World of 12 Months”	Marcella Durand	07/15/2013
The Old Stoic	Emily Brontë	07/14/2013
From “Please Bury Me in This”	Allison Benis White	07/12/2013
In the Back Seat of History	Mary Biddinger	07/11/2013

Title

Author

Date

My Grandmother’s Love Letters

Hart Crane

07/21/2013