Spic, wetback, beaner,

Border rat, pepper-belly, orange picker,

Names commonplace now

For Latinos and Hispanics,

Names,

Used to break,

Used to hurt,

Used to kill,

The orators:

Ignorance, Malice, Contempt

But most importantly

Fear.

Fear of what is different,

Fear of what is great,

Fear of what has always been great,

For the sun shone for centuries

On the shores of enduring Tenochtitlan,

Against the backs of the condors,

That soared over mighty Cusco

And would set peacefully, on the steps

Of the temples of rugged Tikal,

Centuries before,

Intolerance sailed over

Imposing their views,

over a land that they’ll claim they found,

a pirate finding gold on Spanish ships,

a dog finding chicken on its owner's plate;

Civilizations,

No, Empires,

Empires traversing hundreds of miles

Covering numerous terrains.

We come from empires.

We come from glory.

Perhaps a forgotten glory,

or rather, a buried glory;

Glory buried under years of slander, under years of close-mindedness

Buried under years of rumors, violence, misconceptions, appropriations,

Buried,

Covered.

It has been said that the buried are not forgotten,

So perhaps,

It’s time to unearth.