POEM OF THE DAY BY BENJAMIN ALIRE SAENZ

The Fifth Dream: Bullets and Deserts and Borders
A man is walking toward me. He is alone. He has been walking through the desert. He has been walking for days. He has been walking for years. His lips are dry and cracking like a piece of spent soil. I can see his open wounds. His eyes are dark as a Tanzanian night. He discovers I have been watching though he has long ceased to care what others see. I ask him his name, ask him what has brought him here, ask him to name his angers and his loves. He opens his mouth to speak— but just as his words hit the air, a bullet pierces his heart. I do not know the country of this man’s birth. I only know that he is from the desert. He has the worn look of despair that only rainless days can give. That is all I know. He might have been born in Jerusalem. He might have been born in Egypt. He might have been the direct descendant of a pharaoh. His name might have been Ptolemy. His name might have been Moses. Or Jesus. Or Muhammad. He might have been a prophet. He might have been a common thief. He might have been a terrorist or he might have been just another man destined to be worn down by the ceaseless, callous storms. He might have come from a country called Afghanistan. He might have been from Mexico. He might have been looking for a well. His dreams were made of water. His lips touching water—yes— that is what he was dreaming. I can still hear the sound of the bullet. * The man reappears. It does not matter that I do not want him in my dreams. He is searching through the rubble of what was once his house. There are no tears on his face. His lips still yearn for water. * I wake. I begin to believe that the man has escaped from Auschwitz. Perhaps he sinned against the Nazis or because he was a collaborator or because he was Jewish or because he loved another man. He has come to the desert looking for a place he can call home. I fall asleep trying to give the man a name. * The man is now walking toward a city that is no longer there. * I am the man. I see clearly. I am awake now. It is me. It has taken me a long time to know this. I am a Palestinian. I am an Israeli. I am a Mexican. I am an American. I am a busboy in a tall building that is about to collapse. I am attending a Seder and I am tasting my last bitter herb. I am a boy who has learned all his prayers. I am bowing toward Mecca in a house whose roof will soon collapse on my small frame. I am a servant. I shine shoes and wash the feet of the rich. I am an illegal. I am a Mexican who hates all Americans. I am an American who hates all Mexicans. I am a Palestinian who hates all Israelis. I am an Israeli who hates all Palestinians. I am a Palestinian Jew who hates himself. I am dying of all this knowledge. I am dying of thirst. I am a river that will never know water again. I am becoming dust. * I am walking toward my home. Mexico City? Washington? Mecca? Jerusalem? I don’t know. I don’t know. * I am walking in the desert. I see that I am reaching a border. A bullet is piercing my heart.
-Benjamin Alire Sáenz