While horses are abundant in the West,
nobody here has seen a unicorn.
And though some Salem women once confessed
to witchery, our homeland is forlorn
of wizards, warlocks, covens in the night,
or fairies, fauns and satyrs in the wood.
No monsters lurk, no spirits bend the light,
no demi-gods protect the neighborhood.
We may have miracles, but no one voice
to sing them spinning solid through our dreams.
Our multi-heritage gives so much choice
our tongue is silent still, and yet it seems
if we attend ourselves, we’d make a start
at giving sound to our collective heart.