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Americanos
January 8, 2017
Sing like Selena did,
with that eagle voice
hovering between borders.
A dream of what I wanted to be.
She was born here,
like me, but I never grew wings
or roots.
Just leaves that die every autumn.
Maybe I will too -
die, I mean.
Like a memory of acorns
that never met the soil's
dark lungs.
Never breathes the sun's
eyes on its branches.
Never sprouted
into skies like
oceans flowing over
my head as I
fish in the clouds
for a daydream.
© Anonymous
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