Poem
The declaration of abolition was the northern law,
A path of moral justice, a truth the people saw.
La Posada gave shelter for the dignity of human grace,
Our ancestors stood morally in what will be stolen space.
The cotton settlers came to own the people-free.
The initial gaping wound was carved by a terrible decree.
A dark fiction was written to cover our ancestors’ bloody stain,
La Flor de Nochebuena bloomed red with the spilling pain.
The Nochebuena star still holds a sovereign, stubborn claim,
We speak our ancestor's language and have every name.
Above the steaming Champurrado, thick with corn and whey,
And heritage defeats the lie and claims a brighter day.
In Las Pastorelas, the ancient story still is told,
The invader tempts the shepherds with comforts from cold,
To forget the past and to choose the easier road
A quiet, persistent answer of the conqueror’s discord.
It is the scar of '48 in metal, stone, and lie,
A violent, current gesture beneath a watchful sky.
The heritage is criminalized, a crime until proven innocent,
Demanding we return, away from the land of our allotment.
And so, we gather now beneath the season’s hopeful light,
But the sharp air is strained throughout the Navidad night.
The blood of our abuelos argues against the choices gained,
Against the subtle poison where the family love has drained.
Blood or Assimilation, making the home estranged,
The silent war of kinship ties are violently deranged.
La Posada has been lost, the shelter sought in vain,
And Navidad is undone by the moral heritage pain.
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