The dissonance of a political dissident
To my United States of American
Ears accustomed to hearing,
"My dad will kill me if he finds out"
And other idioms of death
Thrown about meaninglessly.
In my defense I did not know he was
Dissident; he was just a groom.
He was not just another Mexican.
But all those countries south,
To the average United States of American,
Are the same.
Even Guatemala in the 1980s.
When Immigration went on raids,
Carlos was afraid.
He always said,
"They will kill me if I go back."
When Carlos was deported,
We never heard from him again.
** ** ** **
History is the current event
Within your comfort zone.
It is easier to take sides with the dead.
They don't require your helping hand
To pull them from a grave.
Your hands remain clean, not bloodied.
Your mental assent to their cause
Does not demand your personal descent
You can bury your head in the
Sands of history
And leave it there,
Safe from the sandstorm around you.
Know your history;
Escape the condemnation of
Know that no one sits on the sidelines
Of its making.
Active or passive,
We all have blood on our hands.