Allison Solano

I’m Singing

I’m singing on a borrowed tongue,

for what joy could now leave my lips?

I’m singing on my children’s tongue,

As I trace stretch marks on my hips.

The scarcity of my daughters’ eyes,

the rarity of my mother’s wrists,

combine and will forever feed this

supposed sanctity of loneliness.

Once I dreamt of holding them here

on this “better” side of the earth.

But I found illegality,

its endless hostility and girth.

So my money slips across the lines,

into small, quick and nimble hands.

How quickly fate does away with

our naïve and so simple plans.

I’m singing – to forget the words

that draw my heart and stretch it long.

I’m singing – and I hate the words,

with these brown hands I burn this song.