The Immigrant in Vizcaya

By Laura Carvajal

Laughter echoes through the halls

The sound of forks and plates colliding,

Cues guests to move to the dance floor.

Rhythms and beats coming together as one

A woman dressed in white

Glasses clinking by the bay

Celebratory applause disperses among the crowd

Flashes of light coming from a camera

“Can I get a rum and coke please?”

She’s taken back by the request

It takes her a second to remember where she is

She mixes the drink

And zones out again, dreaming

Of what it’s like to be on the other side of the bar

Running in and out of the gardens

Living lavishly like the man who built the house

Having a say in every detail from the ceilings

To the size of the woman’s breasts on the barge

From the fake marble to the stained glass

Instead, she’s there to work

Following the path of those that came before her

Helping, building, aiding, serving

To provide for her family

So that someday she’d have riches of her own.

Unaware of her rose-colored glasses

Unable to see the American Dream being crushed by the American legacy

Hidden within the walls of Vizcaya