I make tools for internal exiles
There are more of us than we think
We are not the first generation
Our mothers dared not signal their location
They kept their identity and their longing secret
Even our mothers don't remember their home
or why they were cast out

We are in alien territory and alone
practiced in disguise and camouflage
exhausted by our fluency
Our tongues are tired from forming
words which are not our own

We must look innocent and ordinary
We must not seem dangerous
It is vital we fit in
We must seem to be at home
Our stationery has our address
printed at the top
Our draperies are made-to-measure
We know where all the dishes go
We've weeded the flower beds
swept the porch
polished the doorknobs
cleaned the windows
and more

We pose with our families
We smile for the camera
We never relax our guard
We make accommodations
but we are not at home

The strategy for our exile must be
never to forget we are not at home

I make the tools we need
for survival and protection
Maps and rations
signaling devices
anesthetics, neuralgesics
essential information
proof of our real identity
balm for grief

Our tools must be portable
flexible
adaptable
easily carried
easily hidden
We carry our tools
on our body
in packets and pockets
in our body
in folds and crevices
in secret cavities

I make tools for internal exiles
tools to resist conversion
tools for covert action
tools for secrecy and concealment
devices for translation
codes for our laments
I am writing to you
in hopes that if you find this
you will tell the others

* The term "internal exiles" is from the artist Judy Baca.