Golden Skin

Written: April 17th, 2020

Fields drenched in exhaustion, adorned by brown bodies 

scarred with misfortune and toxic pesticides

that divest lungs of oxygen. It is the green tomatoes that

equate value with perspiration, calloused hands reaching

towards the atmosphere clenching emptiness. From the bed of the truck,

through the blazing fire of dog days,

where aspirations of higher education germinate

in their own valley of migrant dreams.

Sleep is as foreign as equity in the soil where 

corruption and the venom of indifference cultivate 

next to the oranges. Democracy to those endowed with golden 

skin, lies in the blessing of patron saints guiding optimistic souls

through a desert baptized in vibrant, crimson brutality. Where opportunity

And advancement ameliorate the excruciating weight   

of heavy eyelids. Where shame follows the deep, cemented loathing

for change that occupies residency on both sides of the wall.

I have heard the breeze that carries their worries in the basket 

where they collect rewards for their silence. Willingly seduced by

visions of jovial children filling every corner of a home, bursting 

with sounds of regional melodies from a country bred in violence.

When they flee towards the land stitched with

prosperity, they sacrifice a gaze into the eyes of the 

one who produced their own existence.

to produce meals, gardens, homes, and topics of discussion

for those who produce their own hardship.