A Piece of Paper

A Piece of Paper

“No te preocupes,” I said to my mother
who thought me crazy
for signing a piece of paper to go to Iraq
and fight in a war for El Norte.

I told her it was the best way,
the fastest way to get a piece of paper
saying we were Americanos,
eligible for all the comforts and rewards
of living in a place where my great grandfather
once walked, before Manifest Destiny
declared him an immigrant
in the land where he was born.

Displaced and condemned to live
in a ghost town
where all the men had disappeared,
the lonely women opening empty mailboxes,
occasionally getting a handful of dollars
for frijoles y tortillas,
waiting for word when they could be reunited,
in a promised land.

I made friends in Iraq even after one man
called me brown nig***,
and later when I shot the wild eyed Iraqi
who tried to take his life,
he never called me anything after that
except good Marine and friend.

The President of the United States promised me
a piece of paper that would make me Americano
if I went to the front lines,
and I was so close, just a few days away,
but the Iraqi who shot me didn’t know, didn't care,
becoming Americano was his nightmare.

I would have liked a 21-gun salute,
some of my compadres
from the war were there,
but the mayor of my town said no guns,
so they lay me to rest quietly,
the only sounds my mother crying softly
.
When the man from the U.S. Embassy
in a blue suit wearing dark glasses
walked up to my mother and gave her a piece of paper,
her eyes had the venom of a cobra,
and she tossed the paper under her feet and crushed it
with her heel, and I knew then what it said,
“Congratulations, You have been granted citizenship,"
though it said nothing of my family,
proclaiming only me Americano.

– Aurelio