Milwaukee, Mex
Outside the DHS
rotting cempasúchil petals
bleed from my eyes
and border the pavement as snow flays
my skin red, then white
then nothing held together
by a scarf knitted by abuela
from passed down patterns
older than the Saltillo tiles
of her patio.
I bear twenty-four years on my back
as my mother did draped over
garlands of maguey when I was born
only to be thrown over
the Río Bravo
and expected to fly
like the same feathered serpents
split down length-wise
by San Miguel. But I’m no serpent,
I’m an American,
though my tongue remains forked
and I’ve given my hands to the State
after falling finger-first into snow dunes.
I present half-formed scales and broken quills
before crawling belly-first through the metal detector.
rotting cempasúchil petals
bleed from my eyes
and border the pavement as snow flays
my skin red, then white
then nothing held together
by a scarf knitted by abuela
from passed down patterns
older than the Saltillo tiles
of her patio.
I bear twenty-four years on my back
as my mother did draped over
garlands of maguey when I was born
only to be thrown over
the Río Bravo
and expected to fly
like the same feathered serpents
split down length-wise
by San Miguel. But I’m no serpent,
I’m an American,
though my tongue remains forked
and I’ve given my hands to the State
after falling finger-first into snow dunes.
I present half-formed scales and broken quills
before crawling belly-first through the metal detector.
Kevin Serrano Echevarría (he/they) is a writer, translator, and artist born in Mexicali, Mexico and hailing from Appleton, WI. Serrano Echevarría is currently pursuing an MFA in creative writing at SIU Carbondale. Much of their work explores the surreal, mixed world-views that come out of immigration, queerness, and mental illness. They enjoy black lipstick, code-switching, and rambling on Twitter and Instagram.
Art: Creative Commons