A story of an immigrant


Papa said the sea wasn’t blue it was silver like the salmon we sold in the marketplace

I longed to see such a jewel

But as always I was stuck here smelling like fish guts

I dreamed of sneaking out of our booth

Not just to get away

I just needed to be a part of it no matter what it was

The hustle, the bustle



My name is not Fran

I am Francesca

My name is not Fran

I am Francesca

Singer, Diva, Senorita


I bathed over and over

Baptised myself

Took away all traces of that salmon

And I sang

Sang the song of migrant farmers pulling out tobacco plants with black tar forearms

Sang of the lives I had seen and lived through




They all told me to head to America

That’s where I’d find fame and fortune

Before I ever saw my name in lights my manager said there was some things I would need to change

They plucked my eyebrows

Called my skin olive toned




They called me Fran

My name is not Fran

It’s Francesca

I don’t go to walmart in my pjs

I don’t wear sneakers

What you call high matinence I call glamour

I am here, I am now

But I am forever and ever a Spanish lady



The End

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