When Mexico Sends its People

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 25, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 25, 2016




Grinding day and night. Trying to innovate.

A better future is the thing that I'm trying to create.

And people stop and ask me how I keep this crazy pace

How do I keep working at this captivating rate?



I was raised by immigrants.

I know a thing or two about laughing in the face of obstacles

And staying vigilant

Playing every disadvantage like some music instrument

Turning a brown-skinned cheek against nay-sayers and ignorance.


Using every tool.

Using every ounce of fuel.

So your family could cruise where the rules are a little less cruel


Imagine dreading every time your child returns from school with a letter.

Because you can't read it. You struggle to get your English together.

And on the flipside, imagine the joy of seeing your child up on a stage.

Donning a cap and gown. Knowing they won't be earning minimum wage.


Knowing they won’t struggle like you did or live off cash advance. 

All because you took a chance.

And booked it to America-

to financially advance.


I remember finding a letter. It was sent from my Abuela

Written in Mexico, back when I used to watch Cinderella.

Aunque tu estan lejos, Hijos, nunca me olvidan.

Besos para la bebe. Que dios los cuidan y bendiga.

I put the letter in its envelope and then I cried.

Because I never got to meet my Abuela before she died.  


A face on the news. A missing kid bringing tears.

My father would point at that and say-

“I’ve been missing for twenty years.

I up and left my family to come to this place-

But you know what? It’s worth it every time I see your face.”

My father, sick for home. But he stayed around for me.

He only meant stay around for two-to-three weeks. 


Thus is the plight of an American immigrant.

Not a number, statistic, or a freeloading irritant.

They are human beings. Their vigilance is infinite.

Their contributions to this country have been greatly significant.

Steve Jobs' parents were refugees. That's legitimate.

Think about that the next time you hear the word immigrant.


Immigrants. Stuck in the hood. Misunderstood.

But living life despite stereotypes and falsehood.

Before you bash ‘em, better ask yourself if you would-

Switch places with them and achieve half of what they could.

© Copyright 2018 SofieR. All rights reserved.

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