If I remain silent
In the face of your aggression
It is not because of fear,
or shame,
or lack of courage on my part.

The blood I house
Is humble
respectful and proud.
Too proud to add weight
or mental energy,
to your argument.

If I am silent,
While your injustices
buzz like flies through our conversation –
weighing me down,
before landing on the carcass of
your dead truth –
It is not because I think
you are right
or because
I timidly seek the shadows,
But for reasons
I doubt you can ever understand.

You say what you say,
Assuming I have no voice –
Wondering why I do not defend,
as your voice constantly rails
with words that have no honor.

And silently,
I wonder
why you cannot see
the things you say.

The blood I house
Demands a more careful choice,
A more deliberate use.
Truth or death.

I have a voice.
And you will hear it
when the time comes;
though you will dismiss the tone,
roll your eyes,
and remind yourself that you must
show pity –
to “a poor Mexican with no future.”

There are other voices,
voices like mine,
voices you will never hear
for you can never close yourself
To the noise you make
The privilege you take.

Noble voices
who pray out loud
cry out for justice
grieve openly
And laugh without restraint.

Those are our voices,
Collective –
Filled with truths that you
are afraid to face,
filled with challenge that you
can never overcome,
filled with love
that you can never feel.

The voices of honor and respect.

We come home
to each other
each time we meet,
and you will never know
the safety we know,
as we greet each other
nodding as we pass –
familiar strangers
locked in step together

Knowing.

If I am silent,
In the face of your aggression,
I will not use my words
To change your mind.
Your mind is your responsibility.

If I,
If we,
Remain silent
and seem to be
totally without voice,
you may not know
or understand
that the words which come so easily to you,
to condemn or criticize
are a poison to us –
dragging us down,
steering us away from ourselves,
turning us into
you.

But we know.

If we,
If I,
Open my gates
And allow you to pass through,
carrying your hostile seeds
to scatter on my land –
I am responsible
for the growth that results
from your tainted visit.
I become responsible
for all that you do not understand.

Oh – I have a voice.

One day,
humility may break,
or at least be set aside –
and we will
with one voice,
sing again
and you will finally hear.

Oralya G. Ueberroth was born in Lansing Michigan and has traveled extensively throughout the United States. She is a theatrical stage technician as well as the mother of two children. Oralya is currently completing a B.S. in Public Administration with certification in Community Development at Central Michigan University. She is an author of poetry, stage drama and essays and her work can also be seen in the Mythic Imagination’s Institute publication, Mythic Journeys.