Monday, October 24, 2016

A Migrant Poem

Planting crosses in the desert to mark dead migrants.

One October day, dark and weary
We looked for migrants lost and weary
Through the desert we searched
Seeing many hawks and ravens perched
But of migrants there were none
Save one group having zero fun
They were stopped by Border Patrol;
We offered help but it was, "under control."
On and on we drove
The cold and damp we loathe
To think of migrants shivering alone
So very far away from home
But overjoyed were we to hear
For our friend Oscar we needed no fear
We encountered him first in Altar
At a migrant shelter. He had come so far
He should be sour as a lime
As he had been deported to Mexico four times
But hope and faith he still had
He is a strong and strapping young lad!
This time his trek ended at Southside
Where he can find a job and doesn't have to hide

A Migrant Poem borrows from The Raven and was found tacked to a door inside the locker of a Samaritan group in Arizona. Beneath the poem was a picture taken of a migrant near death in July, 2016 ("Two weeks ago," I was told at the time.) I wanted to share this poem on this website to highlight the plight of those crossing the border and asked for the author's name.

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