Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)


by Francisco X. Alarcón


this poem has

indigenous features

and a brown skin

like Mother Earth

always will be under

“reasonable suspicion”

this poem roams

the open desert before

any barbed wire

it runs tumultuous

like a creek after

a monsoon rain

this poem breathes

the air free of charge

like a cloud in the sky

it has no need

for any legal papers

because is borderless

this poem doesn’t

believe in any imposed

mythical melting pot

it dreams the dreams

of the Native American

and Chicano/a authors

whose books were taken

away from classrooms

and boxed up in Tucson

this poem is breaking

away from these boxes

and joining in walkouts—

truth, tolerance, courage

will overcome no doubt

lies, fear, and silence