Gringa, Ladrona
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She took a piece of my life
Froze it on her frame
My frame falling from my hands
en el camino sucio
Gringa, Ladrona
That day does not belong to you
I’ll say.
The buzzing, burning air reminded me
Why I never took pictures of my friends
Tired in their booths in the market
Selling new old junk and ripening fruit,
Waiting for la presidenta to fulfill her poverty promises
Waiting for their hijos to go to school and make a new life
Gringa, Ladrona
That was my day, my life, my frame
And “I want it back.”
I’ll say
Because each day I look for her on the streets of Nueva York
Because one passing portrait could never reveal what I know
Come with me to El Chorillo and
Tour the real barrio
I’ll say
Ven conmigo to the market
and let me steal your day
Kristin Hoyer
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