You say “you should”—
“What a shame”—
As my tongue trips
On sounds that live in my blood.
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I think, but don’t say:
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In the United States,
There is a despicable legacy
Of stifling languages;
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Because, there is no should or should-not in genocide;
There is no shame, as you say;
There is only a conqueror,
El vencedor,
And death.
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And so I direct you
To the history books;
To my grandmother
Blushing at the sight of an English dictionary;
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And to the blaring fact before us:
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I now write quite heightened poetry—
In English.
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It is a shame presently, I agree;
A shame that even today
My ancestors are blamed, again—
For sparing me.
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I ought to say
“Unfortunately,
History is reflected in me;
Like a mirror my dear,
Don’t you see?”
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But today I am again,
Stifled;
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I will only mumble
“I agree, I agree.”
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