House Rules

Poem: May 2026

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Assimilate all you want,

but they will never accept you.

You think yourself the protector of the house,

but in reality,

to them,

you are the family dog they allow on the couch,

maybe even the bed or grandma’s duvet.

But as soon as you get out of line,

bite an errant hand or make a mess,

remind them of your otherness

you will be beaten or thrown outside.

Emulate all you want,

but they will never accept you.

You think yourself in control of your course,

but in reality,

you are walking a road they paved for you,

a road lined with mirrors and fences,

where you learn to speak without your own tongue,

to laugh at their jokes before you understand them,

to pray to a god who never looked like you.

They hand you a map and call it freedom,

but it leads only back to their gates.

Forget all you want,

but your blood pulsed before the arrival.

You think you are new to this place and land,

but in truth,

you were always here, land turned by leathered hands.

Maybe part of you explored,

maybe part of you exploited.

But we must cast off the caste shackles:

you are not white, brown, or black,

ni mestizo, trigueño, moreno,

nor Hispanic, Latino, or illegal,

not savior, warrior, or terror.

End this march of us versus them,

of good and bad, of guilt and pride.

You are humanity, family, and history.

We are yesterday, today, and promise.

Remember your patria,

bring your faith,

foster your comunidad,

arrive at your acculturation,

and build something better, together.