They Walk Into the Place Where (a reflection on immigration)

They walk into the place
carrying a bandana,
carrying a balaclava,
carrying a bordada
made by abuela.

They walk into the place
that burns the soles of huaraches,
the soles of tennis shoes
into twisted rubber.

They walk into the place
carrying an extra tee shirt.
An extra dress for a hija.

They walk into the land
carrying cheese crackers
and Red Bull and cheap cell phones.

They walk into the place
where money is god.

They walk into the place
where violence is all.

They walk into the
North American desert,

the border boondoggle,
the land of prisons for profit.

The walk into the land of
“you don’t understand.”

They walk into the land
where violence is the export.

They walk into the land where
loss the rule of the land.

http://www.tucsonsamaritans.org


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