Immigration Reform
I want to learn Spanish, I
feel
it’s the right thing to do,
living
here among the lizards, the
cactus
spines, the land of rocks and
sun
and stings, the lank and curl
of snakes and everywhere
sharp edges
Spanish is soft, Spanish rolls
off their tongues, lolls
around my yard
making itself at home,
working
while I watch
they rake and weed, heads
wrapped up
against the sun, probably
talking about me
I think, and who could blame
them
Of course they’re talking
of their own lives, homes and
weeds
sons playing ball, TVs
they talk of work and songs,
dreams
and daughters, gardens,
dinners
dogs, their mothers, cars and
death
and yesterday, last night
week after next
But if I learned it, would
they tell me
what they think about it all,
would there
be a fence, a wall between us
could we become friends
or could I never speak that
Spanish
theirs from birth, mine from
a book or worse
a menu, even if I learn to
say it all
correctly, get the accent
right, hop up
in back of their truck, tie
on
a bandana and ride
to the next yard and the next
yard
and the next, laugh at all
their jokes
would we ever laugh together?
I would like to tell them what
I want
instead I watch them from my window
weeding in Spanish, their easy
flow
of words a soft cool drink
their rakes cutting line
after line
in the sand between us