Poem #8 for Fall, 2015, Creative Writing

                         On Hold

Press one for English, Press two for Spanish
Born to nomads, now in America
Running from the place where we were banished
Met with heaps of stares of hmm? What? And huh?

Born to nomads, now in America
Want me to don traje de flamenca
Met with heaps of stares of hmm? What? And huh?
My cheeks rush into a light blush

Want me to don traje de flamenca?
Or do I leave my history behind?
My cheeks rush into a light blush
Secluding myself from my own kind

Or do I leave my history behind?
The once consumed Pechuga adobada
Secluding myself from my own kind
Bearing the weight of life’s stigmata

The once consumed Pechuga adobada
They say Al mal paso darle prisa
Bearing the weight of life’s stigmata
I’m waiting for this so called messiah

They say Al mal paso darle prisa
But am I a muchacha or a girl?
I’m waiting for this so called messiah
Constantly stuck in this endless whirl

But am I a muchacha or a girl?
Running from the place where we were banished
Constantly stuck in this endless whirl
Press one for English, press two for Spanish

                                         --by Joelle Dratch