By Peggy Bilbro
Alabama, USA
mixed
into the chili
jalapeños
the special flavor
that gives spice to life
Our favorite Mexican restaurant. The best flautas and quesadillas, not to mention the sizzling fresh fajitas. Their margaritas weren’t the best, but the food and the servers over-rode that deficit. They were the sweetest employees who always recognized us, and loved to speak Spanish with me, as a retired Spanish teacher. Then we noticed that one by one they started disappearing. Our favorite server was no longer there to greet us. The young fellow at the cash register had disappeared. The motherly lady who always sat in the first booth and calculated all the accounts and especially loved to chat with me in Spanish was missing at our next visit. Then the flautas and fajitas just weren’t up to their usual quality. The next time we were there the teen age girl at the cash register confided in us that our state’s aggressive anti-immigrant policies had caused most of her family to flee. Her father who had established this delightful ethnic corner. Her mother who kept track of the accounts. Her brothers who were the charming waiters and excellent chefs. All had found themselves unwelcome in this city and state that they had contributed their heart and heritage to. The young lady, U.S. born, was determined to stay and finish her education though even she felt threatened. So many have fled, and we are the poorer for it.
swallows
immigrating
for them no wall
if only
we could fly