Hermana Hondureña en Cristo, DNA does not bind
your skin rich. A tanned hide
Mine, an ashen rawhide
No familial resemblance
Blood spilt, the body strung on the cross
binds us in an eternal, global family;
Segregation has no place in this family
Have you worn the dress;
The wedding dress?
¿el vestivo de novia?
An antique creamy, dirty thing
Acceptable? One would think…
Here, the coffee stained first draft of
Roberto Sosa’s Los Pobres
Quetzalli entwined in your coarse dark hair
May I have one, hermanita Hondureña?
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