All that aching blondness / You think it’s easy to be a pretty boy / starving in America.  Everybody guessing / what you will do and who will do you / For that extra portion of the American Pie  

a child was left behind / in fields— onion, corn, sorghum, cotton fields / tierramotes, piedras, fierro, plumas, alrededores / no one’s child, no language just humming / father was always marking territory— / dark skinned mother spoke with the dark— / brothers threatened the misunderstood—

i come from women illiterate and rough-skinned all their / creativity bent to the tasks of survival / enslaved women / conquered women who watched the world they knew die mute / and screaming silent and weeping women whose lives were / worn short