The Taking of Mexico


So now we are the outsiders,

So now we should be shoved to the outskirts,

Make room for the masters;

So now we shall have the reservations,

To learn to live to die

So now you have given us our destiny,

So now, let me tell you how wrong you are,

Let me show you how the weed devours the fig

Let me show you the resilience of my root

Let me gnaw at your ankle,

As you writhe,

Let me hold you, burning, in the lucid light

Foreign to reason, that which you hold so true

Yet blind,

You stumble on the hard rock, with your prick

Measured in inches, yet missed by centuries.

Hold fast to the tops — hold the soil;

From Winter’s slumber Spring’s fury comes;

Oh tormenting showers

Wash away the glittery top;

And the bedrock, whence you try to grapple,

Rises up, to push you forward,

In the current which foots fail,

And forward yet, lies the ocean

To clean the rocks,

And deliver to my shores pure sand.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s