Undocumented Sonnet In Which I Dream of Citizenship
by José Felipe Ozuna
In the dream every bird is wet with blood
and leaves red clouds hanging in the sky, blue-
less and dark now that the sun has been ashed.
Today an uncle told me he shot down
a bird by making his fingers into a gun
and yelling POW! I don’t believe dreams
are anything more than a blank page in which
your brain makes meaning out of the day.
But when the birds fell, I opened my mouth,
swallowed as many as I could. I can’t explain it.
Why I still believe this country will one day grant me
anything other than contempt.
Or why I woke with feathers in my teeth.
Or why I reached for the water by my bed and drank.
and leaves red clouds hanging in the sky, blue-
less and dark now that the sun has been ashed.
Today an uncle told me he shot down
a bird by making his fingers into a gun
and yelling POW! I don’t believe dreams
are anything more than a blank page in which
your brain makes meaning out of the day.
But when the birds fell, I opened my mouth,
swallowed as many as I could. I can’t explain it.
Why I still believe this country will one day grant me
anything other than contempt.
Or why I woke with feathers in my teeth.
Or why I reached for the water by my bed and drank.
José Felipe Ozuna was born in Guerrero, Mexico, and lives in Minneapolis, MN. He is an Undocupoets fellow and a 2023–24 Mentor Series Fellow. His poems are published in Poetry Online, The Rumpus, HAD and the anthology Here to Stay: Poetry and Prose from the Undocumented Diaspora. You can find him at linktr.ee/josewrites.