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Emilia Barrosse


America, can you hear me?
America, I’m screaming across the seas, can you hear me?
America, I’m pounding on the doors of every inner city family in the states — climbing the gates of every upper class family in this place, can you hear me?
Can you feel my beating heart, America? This beat that greets each pair of feet as they make their way through the piss stained streets to meet their ultimate fate with a plastic smile and handshake covering their rage like melting crayons in a cardboard box — can you hear me, America?
America, I’m screaming from the top of my mind and the bottom of my soul –
Where’d my independence go?
I’m screaming for you like it’s everything I know and I have nothing left to show but my calloused hands and my ragged, drawn-out lungs.
America, I’m trying to sing the songs that have yet to be sung.
I’m pulling people up the social ladder on the bottom rung
But the steps are too creaky and the people’s faucets are leaking and they’re moving their mouths but you can’t hear them speaking.
I’m speaking for them, America! Dammit, I’m shrieking!
I haven’t forgotten them yet — it’s for them my heart is beating!
Remember me, America? Remember my name?
My hands may be empty, but my soul’s still the same.
We entered like brothers but somewhere you changed and I forfeit the game of placing blame –
That gives us nothing — just more of the same.
Remember my drive, my will and my spine?
Remember the years we both spent intertwined on a bed of shared values we created together?
And the world we promised each other we’d make better?
I’ll never forget you and I won’t forget them,

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