After Clint Smith III
This morning I received a call from
A woman at the end of her rope:
A husband threatened with deportation
And a newborn just brought home
A car just impounded
And rent nearly due
And her other child crying
And the groceries nearly used up.
Our tears are shed for the patriots draped in flags
Boots dusty and tracking sand from a foreign land
Our tears are shed for the sentinels behind badges
Working long nights in neighborhoods we’ve long abandoned
Our tears are shed for the incandescent ones
Who’ve made us laugh or cry or whoop or holler at screens
On fields on courts on canvas on pages
But her story was not nearly American enough
For us to grieve.
Mexican side of the US-Mexico Border. Tijuana, Mexico. November, 2016. Credit: AJ Joven