MARTÍN
Arizona, 1988
I arrived in the US
stuffed under the hood
of a pickup truck.
From Nicaragua to Honduras,
then El Salvador and Guatemala,
always crossing
through a zigzag
of wartime
dangers.
By the time I reached Mexico, all I had left
was the air in my breath, and these
nightmares.
So I enroll in English classes just as soon
as I reach Tucson, because this is my life now,
and I don’t think the state of Arizona
should have passed that unfair
English-only law
that doesn’t make sense
to any parent who wants
smart children to quickly learn
two ways of being understood,
instead of only
one.