The Immigrants Poem by Romella Kitchens

The Immigrants

1.
It is incorrect in a society to have an exile that
solely calls that the brown or black of skin be

left to the side, face expulsion while others kiss
the very palms of Lady Liberty and are deemed

pure by her simply because they are pale. They
stay like blonde children resting passionately

in the folds of her lap, while the red of skin are
returned to the bloody earth, the repulsion as if

salamanders revoked. Criminals and haters should
be disallowed instead of pinpointed skin hues.



II.
The conceptual of belonging lies in a bed of segregation.
The lamb of dark wool is pushed away from the herd and


chased back across the rocky cliffs to the jaws of the wolf -
no matter how knowledgeable the initiators of his expulsion

are of the kindness of his soul.


III.

When children, we take chalk and draw divisions on the
concrete and say: "This is my land. Cross into it and I will

beat you until you are bloody. Make you leave." And we
police these borders. We police them even when the

the space has expanse…When we ourselves grow into so

much
more.



Copyright 2014 Romella Kitchens, all rights reserved.