by Skyler Daniel
Your littered corrientes,
your filthy politicians,
your bitter bullets tore nothing
but clouds in the sky.
Your littered tierras,
your sugarcane and sweat,
your lowest bidder always buys.
The Mother of God weeps
as she gives her guns to greed.
The peasants grimace
and sow their trash and seed.
Where the littered ríos run
and the ashy montañas burn,
bullets and hope hang from stars in the sky.
On clear nights children reach out,
try to pull them down, while
Esperanza smiles like a far off Sandino silhouette.
Here God,
even hope seems littered.
Nicaragua Immersion 2013 
Skyler, I think out of everything that I experienced in Nicaragua, the last line of your poem is succinctly correct: “Even hope seems littered”. I find myself without words to describe the experience in a meaningful way. It is as if every moment is still being compiled within my processor to make sense of what it all means. What culminated instantly, however, is the lack of hope that is such a stark reality for many, even when they revel in the most earnest ambitions of their deepest dreams.