My poem, "Slaughters and Shifts and Migrations—Arizona," was included in the anthology Poetry of Resistance, voices for social justice, published by University of Arizona Press, 2016.
SLAUGHTERS and SHIFTS and MIGRATIONS—ARIZONA
in response to SB 1070
I spent the day skirting the Mojave in nearly 100 degrees,
no air conditioning in the car, wondering how people can make it
in such heat, crossing the Sonoran Desert by foot to get to this side.
NO EXPONGAS TU VIDA A LOS ELEMENTOS! NO VALE LA PENA!
Past nightfall I catch 66 through Slegman wrecked and in need of a bed.
How do they sleep with pillows of cactus and scorpions under their heads?
I pull in after a neon motel sign: SUPAI.
I receive the last available room from the affable owner.
She inquires about my profession and her face brightens at my reply.
"When we first moved to America from India,” she tells me,
"my son he made the Taj Mahal from clay in school. He painted it, too.
Teaching art to children,” she assures me, “this is very, very important.”
She hands me my key with a sudden melancholy gesture.
“But in this small town,” she shakes her head and glances outside,
“they have no art.” She sighs, “so my children, they do sports
and computers instead.”
My room, recently remodeled is uninspiring but clean.
What can you expect for 40 bucks?
But why am I complaining—an entire family could live in here
if they managed to make it over the border safely.
Los coyotes ahora cobran $4,000.
Supai—from Havasupai, the indigenous language of this land.
Slaughters and shifts and migrations;
greed and dreams and people searching to survive.
This morning, on the road again and already hot, grasshoppers perish
on my windshield as a bolt of lightning over the mountain I’m driving toward
momentarily steals my eye.
The news says: “some support the installation of a minefield
to keep illegal immigrants out.”
Arizona—how many need to die?
Moving over the land can push us into the heart of our existence,
beating and aching and keeping us alive.
What agony over killing these insects!
What exhilaration driving toward the rain!
Only Earth holds the right to tell any of us where we belong.