Citizen

My new borders
Are these
Loud orders taken
By the men
Of my father’s…
No, of our
Sour and neglected nation
I wake, my own neighbor-
The loud, large family or
The silent, solo man.
My old home
Is this:
A colorlous cul-de-sac
So quiet
That riot is near,
And sounds
Like mariachi.
I sleep, a citizen old,
Who bold writes dreams
And scenes
And schemes of two
Nations,
Tongues,
And homes.

- Luis José Rivas