My great-grandfather crossed a bridge
and they burned it.
They buried my grandfather
and handed my mother to this country.
How many steps would it take
to walk back to the man
that my grandfather affectionately called, “wetback,”
who passed a river I’ll never touch,
(rivers are my day trips and vacations)
feeding into my so-called blood?
My great-grandfather crossed an ocean
and they brought it closer.
He lost an accent and became a doctor
and my grandfather told my dad told me
that he had a direct line to the president.
(When he picked up the phone,
did he hear Russia in the static?)
but nobody told me-
they reside in me
and somehow, also,
do not exist.