Door of the Tempest

Give me your tired
Ramon and Diego
Invisible at dawn
In the chill of Home Depot
Your poor and your hungry
Gabriella and Pedro
To mow our green lawns and bleed in our fields
Till the oranges fall rotten in the heat of the valley
Give me your masses still huddled
Maria Christina
Folding our sheets at the Hilton
For minimum wages and bleached bones in the desert
Send me these wretched
Belinda and Carlos
Tossed from temples of silver to slaughtering houses
I lift my lamp to the door of the tempest
With silent lips
Cries she in the harbor of flames:
Breathe free.  
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