They call it Peace
but there is rarely
tranquility
waiting
for my home
to shift and di
vide
beneath and
from inside me.
I find no silence
between my
private spanglish
dialogues on
identity and the
frenzied flapping
banner sounds my
resolve makes as
tied to the gently
shifting pillar of
my soul
it snaps
in the roaring winds
of political static and
the sleet of loaded
stares
and empty promises
as swells of swaggers
and shrugs give way
to tides of eyes that
lap at my ankles
and work their way
up.
In this torrent,
my stripes do
waver.
But just because
I haven't killed some
body
doesn't mean I haven't
served my country
because my boarder
doesn't stop
at Texas
and my passion doesn't
know
what a passport is..
Foreign winds may
cause me to swell
with pride and
curious currents
carry me higher.
In persistent turbulence
I loose my teather
and frayed edges
give way to feathers
where uncoordinated flapping
becomes driven
flight.