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poet

Renato Rosaldo

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by this poet

poem
We celebrate their days,
eat hot dogs, love baseball,
but they say we were born to weed, 
change diapers, carry crates in the grey of dawn
while they sleep. Awake, they look at us without seeing.

We see ourselves clearly, know ourselves
precisely, without parades and picnics.
To survive, we must.

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