She grew up thinking a white rabbit lived
On the surface of the moon, alone and
Elusive; sometimes hiding behind the
Rotating curtain of the world, always
Awake when the sun revealed the bubble, 
Blue and swirled with shapes of white and green.

I grew up thinking borders were the lines
That shaped my Powerpuff coloring books—
It was optional to stay inside the lines and
Use the right color. Mojo Jojo could 
Not get me if I gave him thick stink lines, 
If I crossed for the sake of a better
Picture, one where great justice was served in
Crayola wax and washable markers. 

They grew up thinking assimilation
Was a cure, waiting to be delivered
In European ships and holy books—
Truth was painted on the surface of the
Skin, and bodies could be numbers with new
Names; real names now lost in the volcanic 
Soil, where roots learned to grow in the shade, 
Under white rabbits carved into the moon.

We grew up thinking América was
More than los Estados Unidos, that
América was ours before Cortés.
But—my family was told otherwise.
When we touched familiar soil 
With our unfamiliar shoes, and 
Saw lines sprouting from the ground like thin
Metal arms with metal thorns with metal
Seeds flying through the air, we saw their truth.

We (all) are now grown—
And what do we choose to believe? 




(For a class assignment.
Write something based on the
word you were given. My word was Lies.)