Part 1 – For the Fourth

When I am three, my favorite holiday is the Fourth of July. I spend an hour in front of the mirror, smearing red, white, and blue over my cheeks. Families line every square foot of the streets and sidewalks. The air is filled with the shouts of children and the joy we carry for no other reason than because we feel that, today of all days, we should.

When I am twelve, the Fourth of July parade is a neighborhood relic. The other children are all aged out and gone to college. I do not paint my face. I have discovered America’s secret.

At sixteen, the day does not prompt any semblance of camaraderie. I sit by myself and pore over a photo of children my age in shackles. I hold the word democracy in my hands and watch it bend and break apart.

Part 2 - Thought/Prayer

[we all want to be hopeful]
[“my voice matters”]

I know I will never be President.

[Escúchame]

Por favor, no, sólo quiero a mi mamá conmigo

Por favor, no, no separes a las familias en mi comunidad

Por favor, no, no me quites mi hogar

Por favor, no, no te lleves mi cuerpo

Por favor, no, no me quites mi educación

Dios, Por favor

Part 3 - The Color Blue

the color blue engraves my palms
it blots the creases that run along my skin, traces their outlines,
when the sun hits just right, and it glows a caramel gold
shimmers like stars,
to guide me toward the light.

Are you upset? Is it surprising?

Democracy is a sum. Maybe the sum is zero.

Democracy is a multiplication. Skewed towards the highest figures.
Goading us from the top.
A porcelain mother of good intentions.
Democracy will not complain or cut corners.
Democracy wears a brutal face and a selfish tracksuit.

I hope for a world with song.
I hope for a world united.

the color blue engraves my palms
it blots the creases that run along my skin, traces their outlines,
when the sun hits just right, and it glows a caramel gold
shimmers like stars,
to guide me toward the light.