The Latino American Dream?

OK, just wanted to post this poem I wrote back in April. It was inspired by the LaFe/Wimauma immersion trip I went to this past March. Right after being in Wimauma for a weekend and then going home to Miami made me think about a lot of things. Here are some of my thoughts in a spoken word:

First there were some of us that came on the plane,

Some of us had to walk through deserts, our bodies dehydrated and drained.

Another handful of us jumped onto a boat in the Caribbean, longing for something more humane,

Either way we got here, it was all the same kind of pain.

Giving up the motherland for the American dream,

Some sort of magical life that was promised to us,

At least that’s how it first seemed.

Does the “us”, the “nosotros” even exist anymore today?

It’s become more like me, myself, and I and I just want it all my way.

A Latina in her Cubanized suburbia living the American dream,

The magical promised life she has found and it’s just oh so supreme.

Watching her hermanos y hermanas sip away their Starbucks in their designer jeans,

Never realizing our exploited people are the ones who picked those coffee beans!

A Latina in the middle of Immokalee,

Wondering if anyone will ever see,

That she’s been sold into modern day slavery.

Picks tomatoes and strawberries and never sees a dime,

On and on for years, because no one seems to ever have the time,

No one has the time to be her voice,

No one seems to care that she doesn’t have a choice.

A Latina in her Cubanized suburbia living her American dream,

Because of her US citizenship she has the higher self-esteem,

A life full of fancy clothes straight from the maquiladoras, the sweatshops, of El Salvador,

The exact same kind of places and reason her parents ran away over here for.

A Latina lost in a dream and a world all of her own,

Having never no clue that just an hour and a half away is a world of her own gente, her people, just completely unseen and unknown.

One day the suburbanized Latina stepped out of her comfort zone,

Away from all that she knew, but in so many ways it was like coming home.

She began to hear the voiceless and their silent screams,

The Latino American dream is not all that great as it had seemed.

Not only coming home to her gente, but also coming home to the Lord,

She felt her Heavenly Father urging her that this abundant life He offered was not to be ignored.

The Latina begin to see new kinds of dreams,

Ones of justice, love, redemption, instead those were now the themes.

A Latina in her Cubanized suburbia living the American dream,

Felt her heart begin to break, a heart that was once so mean.

Now she has finally woken up, her eyes are ready to see,

Her hands ready to help reconcile, to create new things for His glory,

The way it was always meant to be.

A new dream of freedom, of dignity, and love,

A new kind of Latino American dream for our people,

Can only come from our Heavenly Father above.