Poetry & Prose


At the end of the room, 

a white wall holds 

a portrait of the president, 

wearing a 

Smile while I check my documents again:

Evidence of employment

                                     I-20  form 

                                                      F-1 Visa 

                  Valid passport

Mi madre told me to look

and act confident:

Show them tu valor,


Three years have gone by, 

four more secured. 

My fingers slip through papers and folders;

I want to belong here, 

I want to be one of them. 

The Government Officer does not speak;

I get back my papers 

assured by a number

that I’m part of the system. Now  

I walk out of the building like a baby 

out of a hospital:

Reborn and worthy.