logan phillips 26enero2004 (from the book Sun Said Shine) español

Ayudame corazón
me dejó la vida
su linea está bien fría
pero todavía quemo
todavía quemo

It’s not that they’re voiceless
I’m sick of them being called voiceless
It’s that we have no ears with which to hear them,
our ears of engrish & comfort
our faces of clean water
nuestras caras de agua limpia

From the door of the hospital where I was born it is only 25 miles as
the crow or zipolte flies to the Mexican border
and it’s just a trick of politics & tricky fate
that I speak this spanglish with a gringo accent
instead of speaking engrish with a latin tounge
It’s just a tricky trick of politic
that racism calls me pinche güero y gringo puñatero
instead of fucking beaner and greasy border jumper
So this could be a poem of differences
about este güero tratando
y el racismo por ambos lados
racism is dichotomies
but this isn’t that poem

Ayudame corazón
me dejé la vida

It’s not that they’re voiceless
I’m sick of them being called voiceless
It’s that sometimes their voices speak in a way that only eyes
can hear
In the Huachuca Mountains that stand between my childhood swingset
and México
One can go, if so inclined
up the incline of these mountains that stand on the border
and see where the old hiking trails have swelled
under the worn shoe soles of restless souls, poor
They have crossed here in such numbers, through the mountains
because the US has built such walls & barbwire
as to make the flatlands no mans lands
no womans land
no childs land no more y nada más
These mountains strewn with discarded tin cans & plastic
every one labeled en español, hechos en México
So this could be a poem about the mountains and their scenic trails
strewn con la basura sucia, the trash of travelers
but between the suffering scenic views and the suffering of these campesinos,
I know where I stand
So this isn’t that keep-the-dirty-Mexicans-out-of-our-beautiful-mountains
bullshit poem
Sure as hell not that poem

me dejó la vida
su linea está bien fría

It’s not that they’re voiceless
no me digas ésta pinche mentira otra vez
It’s that sometimes numbers speak louder than verbs
60% of all 8 million illegal mexican immigrants living in the US crossed
through Arizona
150 more than dead in 2003
145 dead in 2002
14 dead in a single december day 2003
130 degrees en el suelo of the desert
In Mexico the average person makes 4,000 dollars a year
How many did you make last year?
So yeah, this could be a poem of numbers
if numbers had faces
but this isn’t a faceless poem
ahorrita no y jamás

And so we wait for a solution
depending on which side you’re waiting
you’re either dying in waiting or just waiting
Immigration accords,
beauty becoming blurry
the border becoming more blurry still,
a border population that will double in the next 25 years
we wait
in the meantime
howbout this:
Just notice dark skin, even if its not working for you
Learn Spanish, cause your grandkids are gonna speak it anyway
Listen with your eyes
Act with your heart
Put faces on numbers
Watch your tounge
and whatever you decide to do, just do not call them voiceless
They speak
it’s our ears that make the choice whether or not to hear a single
word they say