When I was young, we had text in school about other cultures.
My favorites culture was the "Pueblo Indians, "
because they baked their own bread in ovens
they made and cooked food in clay pots.
When I found out they were Mexican, I didn't
glare like some of the non-black children did.
"What beautiful skin."
"How nice it is, a world with
Would these angry children hurt
them like they had hurt me some
Are the pueblos in the desert far away
for a reason?
For a parity through distance few could
ever appreciate unless they were the
ones that needed it?
Lastly: Was maize bread as absolutely
delicious as it looked?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem