Unaccompanied ALSO BY JAVIER ZAMORA Javier Zamora Nueveafosinsgrantes / Nine Immigrant Years (chapbook) Copper Canyon Press Port Townsend, WashingtonOna Dirt Road outside Oaxaca ‘The Mexican never said how long. How long? Not long, jHow much? Not much, Never told us we'd hide in vans like matchsticks. Inour town, we'd never known Mexicans besides the women and men in soap operas, so in our heads, we played the fence, the San Ysidro McDonald’, a quick run, a van, Not long, not jong at all. In Oaxaca, ‘small brown lizard licks horchata from my hand- we're friends, we pick names for each other. Hola Paula, Hola Javier, she says. We play the fence, a quick run, the van. How long? Not Jong. On the dirt, ‘our knees tell truths to the cops’ ftont-sights and barrels. gHow much? Not much. Weld never known Mexicans besides Chente, Chavela Vargas. We're on the dirt like dogs showing nipples to offspring, it's not spring, and we've going to where there is spring, wwe say it’s gonna be alright, it's gonna be just ine— my hands play with Paula. Cassette Tape ‘To cross México we'fe packed in boats twenty aboard, eighteen hours straight to Oaxaca. Vomit and gasoline keep us up. At am. ‘we get to shore, we run to the trucks, cops rob us down the road—without handcuffs, our guide gets in their Ford and we know it’s all been planned. Not one peso left so we get desperate—Diosito, forgive ue for biding in trailers. We sleep in Nogales till our third try when finally I meet Papé Javi, ‘Mamé, you left me. Papi, you left me. Abuelos, [left you. ‘Tias, [left you. Cousins, !'m here. Cousins, Heft you. fas, weleome: Abuelos, we'll be back soon, Mamé, let's return. Papé gpor qué? Mamé, marry for papers. Paps, marry for papers. ‘Tias, abuelos, cousins, be careful, Twon't marry for papers. Emightmarry-forpapers: Iwon'tbeback soon, I can't vote anywhere, 1 will etch visas on toilet paper and throw them from a lighthouse, When I saw the coyote I didn’t want to go. but parents had already paid. I want to pour their sweat, each step they took, and braid a rope,want that cord to swing us back to our terracota roof. No, wanted to sleep in my parents’ apartment. 2 You don't need more than food, «aroof, and clothes on your back. Tadd Moms warmth, the need | for war to stop. Too many dead cops, too many tattooed dead. Does my country need more of us to flee with nothing but a bag? Corrupt cops shoot “gangsters* | from armored cars. Javiercito, | itor eetentrsonoon. | Last night, Mom wanted to listen to “Lulu’s Mother,” ‘a song she plays for the baby she babysits. I don't know why this song gets tome, she said, then: “Abhbh Lu-lu-lu-lu / don't youery / Mom-ma won't go / a-way / Abbbh Lu-lu-lu-lu / don't you ery / Pop-pa won't go / a-way...." Its mostly other nannies in the class; t’s supposed to help ‘with the babies’ speech development, she says, mijo, sorry for leaving. I wish I could've taken you to music classes. She reached over, erying. Mom, you can sing to me nox, ‘was all I could say, you can sing fo me now. 4 To President-Elect ‘There's no fence, there's a tunnel, there's a hole in the wall, yes, you think right now zno one's running? Then who isit that sweats and shits their shit there for the cactus, We craved water; our piss ‘turned the brightest yellow—1 am notthe only nine-year-old who has slipped my backpack under the ranchers’ fences. 'm still in that van that picked us up from “Devil's Highway.” The white van hhonked three times, honks heard by German shepherds, helicopters, Migra trucks, I don't know where the drybacks are who ran with dogs chasing after them. Correction: [do know. At night, they return to say sobreviviste bicho, sobreviviste carnal. Yes, we over-lived.OO Let Me Try Again Tcould bore you with the sunset, the way water tasted after so many days without it, the trees, the breed of dogs, but I can’t say there were forty people ‘when we found the ranch with the thin white man, his dogs, and his shotgun. Until this 5 a.m. I couldn't remember there were only five, or seven people— ‘Weld separated by the paloverdes, We, meaning: four people. Not forty, Therest... Idontt know. ‘They weren't there when the thin white man Tetus drink from a hose while pointing his shotgun, In pocho Spanish he told us sicorrer perros atacar, fran dogs trained attack, When La Migra arrived, an officer who probably called himself Hispanic at best, not Mejieano like we called him, said buenas noches and gave us pan dulce y chocolate,Procedure says he should've taken us back tothe station, checked our fingerprints, etoétera. He must've remembered his family over the border, or the border coming over them, ‘because he drove us to the border and told us next time, rest at least five days, don't trust anyone calling themsclos coyotes, bring more tortillas, sardines, Albambra. He knew we would try again and agein, everyone does. o enship it was clear they were hungry with their carts empty the clothes inside their empty hands they were hungry because their hands were empty their hands in trasheans the trasheans on the street the asphalt street on the red dirt the dirt taxpayers pay for up to that invisible line visible thick white paint visible booths visible with the fence starting from the booths booth road booth road booth road office building then the fence fence fence fence it started from a corner with an iron pole always an iron pole at the beginning those men those women could walk between booths say hi to white or brown officers no problem the problem I think were carts belts jackets we didn’t have any or maybe not ‘he problem our skin sunburned all of us spoke Spanish ‘we didn't know how they had ended up that way onshat side &FE ‘we didn't know how we hac ended up here ‘we didn’t know but we understood why they walk the opposite direction to buy food on this side this side we all know is hunger San Francisco Bay and "Mt. Tam” Every day there's the bay, every day, every night, once, it was Estero de Jaltepec: Kingdom of Sand: warm, coconut-sweet, not salt. ‘We jumped from the per \we jumped from mangroves when air was thick gold honey. We'd come up and there it was, El Volean de Chinchontep ‘Mountain of Breasts: dormant, with a cornfield-skirt. Twenty years above the tropic, every day, every night, there's “Mt. Tam,” its Coast Miwok name Tamalpais shortened by gringos: foreign and invasive like pampas grass, like eucalyptus like every single white seed of dandelions,