A Girl Dreams

A Girl Dreams

A Poem by Marie Anzalone

homework assignment for Casa los Altos, theme "Wind." Written for a Guatemalan migrant from a family very dear to me.




We are the only presence

arrogant enough to place a line

upon the earth and expect

fixed natural forces to obey

the laws of the arbitrary, our

delight in the imaginary sound

of our own importance.


Your people taught me of things

that cross borders with intent,

curiosity, and whim. The sparrow

does not know whether it is

in Chiapas or Oaxaca; the wind

never thought to show its papers

at Tecun Uman.


You taught me, directions are

sacred; you showed me, how to

read the stories carried across

continents and desires like a 100

small diamonds scattered in the

despair of a once fertile landscape.




Winds from the east carry dust

that was kicked up by zebras

in Kenya; winds from the east

bring food to things that feed us

and a base for rains that nourish

the things they feed upon.


Winds from the west are charged

with lightning and the authority

of the Pacific Ocean; they roll

over us as fog while we lie

dreaming of moss and ferns;

the eyes of night things, evaluating.


We forgot in my country that waves

from the south created our first fields

and fed 20 generations. We forgot,

we needed you as much as you

need us. We forgot who was here

first, we forget who forged the

land laws we all broke.




I prayed with you that week,

when they told me you were taken.

I could only imagine the winds

scouring your back with sand

while you slept on the cold gravel

like a modern Madonna, seeking

no more than the place that wants you;

the souls of men who put you

there harsher than the sand

in your eyes.


Your grandparents were right

all along- it is the winds

from the north that bring

the droughts of November,

the fires of March; the desolation

of April’s hungry presence like


the lack of compassion for a girl

sleeping on the ground in the desert


condemned for the crime

of having the same dream

as my own father; and with far

more courage than 10 men

with rifles my taxes purchased;

instead of food, or a teacher.


© 2019 Marie Anzalone

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Added on November 26, 2019
Last Updated on November 26, 2019


Marie Anzalone
Marie Anzalone

Xecaracoj, Quetzaltenango, Guatemala

Bilingual (English and Spanish) poet, essayist, novelist, and technical writer working in Central America. "A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start argume.. more..