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Monday, January 27, 2025

THE BIRTHRIGHT OF HOME

by Dick Altman




Attorneys general from 22 states sued President Trump in two federal district courts on Tuesday to block an executive order that refuses to recognize the U.S.-born children of unauthorized immigrants as citizens, the opening salvo in what promises to be a long legal battle over the Trump administration’s immigration policies. —The New York Times, January 21, 2025


Reports of Navajo people being detained in immigration sweeps sparks concern from tribal leaders: The DOJ argued in court that Indigenous people don’t have birthright citizenship under the 14th Amendment, so neither should children of noncitizens born in the US. —Arizona Mirror, January 24, 2025


I marvel,

over six months,

as crews,

of master

craftsmen,

mostly

undocumented,

give birth 

to my house,

overlooking

Rio Grande’s

valley.

 

I watch as raw hunks

of sandstone

bewitch

into new life

as Anasazi-style

walls.

Slabs

of the same rock

sculpted

into geometric

mosaics

of outdoor

walkways

and portals.

 

Amaze

as a Rumsford

fireplace,

known

for its high heat,

transforms

out of nothing

more than

firebrick,

cinder block,

and plaster,

into a work

of art,

reminding

of Spain’s

Middle Ages.

And so

the entire house

evolves

in that spirit.

 

I begin to wonder,

as the birthright

of countless

newborns,

of alien parents,

is in effect,

stripped

from the Constitution,

could

the government

call into question

the legality

of my house,

conceived

by undocumented

foreign labor,

to exist

on American soil?

 

I imagine

coming home

one day

to an empty lot,

not even a trace

of the concrete

underpinnings.

Posted on one

of many Aspen

I planted

over the years,

a document

claiming to be

an executive

order.

 

It reads:

“Your home,

propagated

by illegal

foreign labor,

has lost

its birthright

to shelter you.

The government

has no recourse

but to remove it

from your

property.

You’re welcome

to rebuild

with trades

of authentic

American

descent.”

 

What can I say,

as I look down

at Pueblos,

diminished

by untold eras, 

so they must

have seemed,

of America’s

dispossession?

What    can   I   say?



Dick Altman writes in the high, thin, magical air of Santa Fe, NM, where, at 7,000 feet, reality and imagination often blur. He is published in Santa Fe Literary Review, American Journal of Poetry, Fredericksburg Literary Review, Foliate Oak, Landing Zone, Cathexis Northwest Press, Humana Obscura, Haunted Waters Press, Split Rock Review, The Ravens Perch, Beyond Words, The New Verse News, Wingless Dreamer, Blueline, Sky Island Journal, and others here and abroad.  His work also appears in the first edition of The New Mexico Anthology of Poetry published by the New Mexico Museum Press. Pushcart Prize nominee and poetry winner of Santa Fe New Mexican’s annual literary competition, he has authored some 250 poems, published on four continents.