Here to Stay: Poetry and Prose from the Undocumented Diaspora

by Janine Joseph, Esther Lin, Marcelo Hernández Castillo

A lush tapestry of poetry created by undocumented and undocu-adjacent writers, Undocupoetics is an invitation to be a part of an integral component of contemporary American poetry.

“As a poet of African descent, I understand what it means to belong to two places at once. But I also understand what it means to be deserted by one as a result of the distance created by involuntary migration and displaced by one because of draconian laws. My sense of identity flows through my verse: through it I am coping, overcoming, surviving, and reaching joy. More than anything, poetry is an act of service for self-actualization and freedom.”—an anonymous undocumented contributor

From the indomitable writers and activists Marcelo Hernandez Castillo, Janine Joseph, and Esther Lin comes an anthology gathering some of the best work from undocumented or undocu-adjacent writers from across the undocumented diaspora.

Here to Stay is a collection of 90 honest, heartfelt, searing, and evocative poems interspersed with short personal narratives, as culturally rich and diverse as the American quilt. Deeply intimate, these works explore what it means to exist in the liminal space between the familiar and the unknown, between past and future. Highlighting the significant talents of undocumented writers, this brilliant anthology challenges misconceptions of what it means to write and exist as an undocumented person in modern America.

Beautiful, poignant, and timely, this must-read collection is a rich and important new chapter in the ongoing story of the eclectic immigrant experience and the United States itself.

Genres: Poetry, Anthologies, Nonfiction, Social Justice

272 pages, Paperback

Published September 3, 2024

About the author

JANINE JOSEPH is a poet and librettist from the Philippines. She is the author of Decade of the Brain (Alice James Books, 2023) and Driving without a License (2016), winner of the Kundiman Poetry Prize. She is also co-editor of Here to Stay: Poetry and Prose from the Undocumented Diaspora (HarperCollins 2024), an anthology of poetry and statement of poetics. Her commissioned works for the Houston Grand Opera, Washington Master Chorale, and Symphony New Hampshire include "Extraordinary Motion: Concerto for Electric Harp," "The Art of Our Healers," "What Wings They Were," "'On This Muddy Water': Voices from the Houston Ship Channel," and "From My Mother’s Mother". A MacDowell Fellow, Janine is an Associate Professor of Creative Writing at Virginia Tech and a co-organizer for Undocupoets, a nonprofit literary organization that supports poets who are currently or who were formerly undocumented in the U.S.

Reviews

[s.penkevich [hiatus-will return-miss you all] · Rating 5 out of 5]

In a world where the shape of borders and government paperwork divides, objectifies, vilifies, and often erases people, ‘Poetry travels beyond the borders that documentation reifies in our thinking.’ Tobi Kassim, an undocumented poet living in the United States, finds poetry to be a pathway to a voice, to be recognized in ways passport or citizenship papers could never reach. Here To Stay: Poetry and Prose from the Undocumented Diaspora’ is an moving and insightful anthology edited by “the undocupoets” Janine Joseph, Esther Lin, and Marcelo Hernández Castillo to highlight the experience of under-documented people, show they are just as valid and creative a force in contemporary poetry as those with citizenship paperwork, and invite readers to understand their lives. As Jose Felipe Ozuna write, ‘poetry is a place where I don’t have to make concessions,’ and the poems collected here hit hard with their bold and vibrant prose. Alongside their poetry, each writer is given a space to discuss what poetry or being undocumented means to them, creating a brilliant and multifaceted tapestry of poetic investigation and understanding. From recognizable names like Javier Zamora, Vanessa Angélica Villarreal, or José Olivarez to dozens more equally exquisite poets, this is a gorgeous collection full of heartaches and passion that speaks to crucial issues going on today in the United States.

Feeding Finches
—Janel Pineda

Ever since the foreclosure notice was
posted on our front door, my father has
been feeding finches. Palming safflower
seeds and shelled corn and white proso millet
into a makeshift feeder by my sister's
plants.The finches come in flocks, bowing
before food. My father watches them take
turns wing-bathing in the dog bowl before
flying off. He lets them go, knowing they'll
return, knowing he'll feed them again.
What else is a man's worth, but the promise
of seeds he offers his children? What else
but the halo of a roof he secures
atop their heads?

The poets in this anthology are born all over the world but have found themselves in the United States without citizenship and want to share their stories like anyone else despite commonly facing a sense of erasure for their legal status. Poems on DACA, American grammar books, missing documents, crossing the border at 4 years old, family (‘the difference between a ricer and a creek is that / from a creek, no new branches are formed’ writes Patrycja Humienik), and more fill these pages in order to give their stories and memories a voice. ‘I commit myself to memory as an act of revolt,’ says Mico Astrid on their poetry, but continues to add their work is ‘to invite readers to ask “why is it like this?” and to someday arrive at an answer that propels us collectively closer, and forward.’ Because the world is a frightening place for those without legal documentation. At the time of writing this in March 2025, ICE agents have increased arrests on undocumented people by 627% under the Republican regime, arresting more than 23,000 people and deporting 18,000 in just the past month. Cowering from democratic processes like congressional approval behind executive orders that have largely been blocked in courts for being unconstitutional, Donald Trump has attempted to end birthright citizenship and upend immigration laws to revoke freedoms and rights for those not born by chance within the tax law boundaries of the United States. ‘To confess my being is to risk my safety,’ Elmo Tumbokon admits, and these poems become a brace space that, in the face of personal danger, the poets remind us they exist just like the rest of us.

‘My poems present the reader with a choice: come here and sit with me or choose not to be implicated, to remain on the outside, eavesdropping.’
—Jane Kuo

Sociologist Everett Hughes coined the term “master status,” poet Aline Mello explains, to name a ‘primary identity that affects every aspect of one’s life and determines their future trajectory.’ Mello confesses ‘I cannot separate my work from my undocumented identity,’ and through each poets statements we see how their documentation status becomes writ large on their lives due to governmental forces and societal gatekeeping. It follows them everywhere and having to worry about deportations or abuse is a constant worry as many poets admit. ‘Attention to detail is a survivor’s trait’ writes Esther Lin, ‘will you marry me is one question / will you report me is the other.’ But there are also rather moving looks at how poetry is a way to assess themselves and the world around them. Leticia Priebe Rocha sees poetry as ‘an art of acute observation and listening,’ and ‘a poem is a window, a mirror, or a door,’ writes Wo Chan. But Wo Chan also reminds us ‘to have a body is to be a window, mirror, and door, all at once and one to all,’ and we see poetry as a further way of understanding identity but also social transformation:

‘[P]oetry is language fantasy, a wish made into expression, the same way that drag is the fantasy of the body. Not just what is possible, but against that which is forbidden. A poem transforms paper into hope; drag transforms the body into great beauty and pride, despite social and political op-pression. Both require massive effort. Both can be- not just expressions -but visceral assertions for societal transformation. And both declare: "My name is ________ and I have something to say."
This is the knowledge we share.’

It is a beautiful way to think of poetry and I love the ideas on possibility here. Saul Hernandez uses surrealism in his work in order to ‘question truth and seek answers’ because, he has learned ‘sometimes to survive we must transform ourselves into objects or creatures defying logic—to write toward the realms of possibilities.’ It is change through language, though Claudia Rojas writes that language is ‘not a definite or final verdict on my life’ and in many of these poems we see how language can be a tricky place for identity, especially those brought up between two languages, cultures, places. For instance, Wamgeci Gitau’s poem I Love You addresses ‘the unnamed loss of lovers speaking in colonial language’

‘I found myself using those words as a placebo for things I could not say like “how are you so desperate to belong when everything looks and smells like you” and “why me? Why do you need to hear this from me?” I used the word “love” when I had nothing else. We were young in the universe. We were young to each other. We only had “love” in English’

A poem that really knocked me out and has lingered with me is Jorge Quintana’s The poem where ants are immigrants and I am the US which looks at issues of violent gatekeeping:

‘sometimes when I kill ants I feel guilty
Because I’m an immigrant yet I feel justified to
Pass mortal judgement on those I consider
Trespassers in my home’

He doesn’t ‘blame the ants / for wanting to survive / their winter even if / if it means dying at / my boot’ but the speaker is fearful if they cross paths again the ants might ‘show me the same kindness…I carry the murder of entire colonies. // God dead God, / will I be forgiven for all the ants I’ve killed?’ I’m reminded of the notion that the white hegemony is fearful of anyone not like them having a share of society using fear tactics to further enforce “Othering” because the fear is that they would be treated the way they had historically treated others. The real sadness here is that people just want to exist and are oppressed, often violently, out of a sense of shame for having been violent and hurtful.

There are a wide variety of poems in this collection and I really appreciate the innovation. There are rather creative formats and the anthology does an excellent job of editing. A standout were the poems of Vanessa Angelica Villarreal, who uses spreadsheets such as the internal ICE spreadsheet made public in May 2020:

‘If ICE’s spreadsheet is meant to deny bodies through abstraction in language, then this poem listens for the body denied, the voice refusing disconnection, abstraction, disappearance.’

Just as people come in many shapes, sizes, colors, and more, so do these poems and it is a wonderful reminder that inclusivity, acceptance and plurality is a way towards strength while gatekeeping leaves everything dull and decaying.

‘My father calls me his American dream,
I suppose I am to live like a kind of evidence.’
—Patrycja Humienik

Here to Stay is an outstanding anthology and one I will return to often. It is a reminder that the socially enforced divisions created by documents and borders are a frail and false dichotomy used to separate us and distract from our shared humanity. Poetry is a great source for those who bear witness and those who want to give voice to the voiceless and this anthology does a marvelous job of being a platform for just that.

5/5

Let me be lawless and beloved,
Ungovernable and unafraid.
Let me be brave enough to live here.
Let me be precise in my actions.
Let me feel hurt.
I know I can heal.
Let me try again—again and again
—Laurel Chen from Greensickness

[Amber · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5/5 gifted by the publisher

As with poetry, i only understood very little. Especially for an anthology, each poet’s styles are so different they don’t always work for me. That said, I love that each poet had an essay accompanying their poetry to talk about how their lives as undocumented individuals have inspired their work, and vice versa. I’d love for all poetry to have this!

[Tara Cignarella · Rating 5 out of 5]

Here to Stay by by Marcelo Hernandez Castillo, Janine Joseph, Esther Lin
Poetry: A
Information: A
Layout/Concept: A
Best Aspect: The short back round story of each poet was great.
Worst Aspect: A few of the poems were strange, in wording or layout.
Recommend: Yes.

[Cheryl · Rating 5 out of 5]

Patrycja Humienik speak earnestly of the safety and community that arise so powerfully perhaps because of the undocumented status. Humienik writes, “Borders lie—we belong not to nations but to each other and ourselves.” Humanism over tribalism; community, rather than the forced division of families; poetry, rather than silence.

My grandfather speaks until the entire alphabet exists in the palm of my hand. I swallow but can’t discern a word. Outside, branches stand, lit from within. The last reason and consolation: the song of our fathers. Lauren Camp, Iraqi

Grief is not the only geography I know. Every wound closes. Repair comes with sweetness, Come spring. Every empire will fall: I must believe this. I felt it Somewhere in the field: my ancestors Murmuring Go home, go home—soon, soon. No country wants me back anymore and I’m okay. If grief is love with nowhere to go, then Oh, I’ve loved so immensely. Laurel Chen, Taiwanese

If things had been different, I might have been the daughter of an Undoc.
It was close. Too close.
It could have been me.
How can I not witness and listen to their words? Can you?
Poems of exquisite humanity and grace and humor and depths.
And sorrow and fear, too. Getting worse.
More important than ever in history to read and learn wholeheartedly.

We issued a public call for poems written by poets who are currently or were formerly undocumented in the U.S. or who belong to a more complex “UNDOC+ Spectrum,” a term theorized and coined by Erika Hirugami and Federico Cuatlacuatl, cofounders of the Undocu+Collective. More specifically, we solicited work from a small selection of poets who come from mixed-status families and whose own lives and experiences are inextricably tied to their undocumented relatives, often their own parents and siblings. While Hirugami and Cuatlacuatl categorize citizen members of mixed-status families as within the adjacent “Undoc Diaspora,” we want to collectively refer to the poets included here as our undocumented diaspora—a diaspora of our own within the larger poetry community.

I was the middle, where the southern and northern winds met, where the house still stood, an inexact center. We were torn apart at the last moment, Dorothy, and our joints unhinged. The wind was a violence that whipped my hair, and when we settled, we did not get all the right parts. My hand has never moved like the water again.
I create my own psalms. Nobody wants to look, nobody can look away.
Suzi F. Garcia, Peruvian American

when they call me african American

inside my Cucu Nduta’s stories i find Agĩkũyũ, of the Anjiru clan on my dad’s side and the Ambui clan on my mom’s. when they call me of the African diaspora, the mugumo tree juts its roots deeper into my veins, spreading its canopy, intelligent and wild like Angela Davis’s afro, roots and leaves yearning to reconcile something vast and universal and written brightly in my blood.

Wangeci Gitau, Kenya

LUNADA/ Jorge Quintana

Happiness is a shade of my mother’s laughter. It echoes in my chest. I believe wholeheartedly in the genetics of emotion. So when entire oceans pour out of me, I recognize my ancestors in the water.

UNDOCUMENTED JOY I don’t remember crossing so I cannot tell you about the journey sometimes I close my eyes and imagine a pitch- black sky with a thousand little stars imagine a poetic crossing my Abuela’s hand tugging at my arm a rush of wind Abuelo leading the way I imagine crossing without fear just dreams

and Abuela’s goals to raise my brother and me into hardworking men I crossed without the trauma latching unto my body crossed unscarred mis viejitos tell me how they had to stuff the four of us under the backseat of a car sometimes I wish I could remember then maybe just maybe I would have another story to tell

I wish you would ask about the memories

I had before my identity became political about the laughs the joy the things I love about the way I have managed to survive I wish you would focus on the magic that is to take the world’s trash and make it into art I wish I could tell you about the journey but all I know is that I am here I’m not going anywhere this is my home now.

[Fiona · Rating 5 out of 5]

The best poetry collection I've yet to read. Required reading for anyone living in America. This is the place to discover contemporary poets!

Here To Stay collects the work of 52 poets, many of which explore the visual, contrapuntal, translation, and mixed media forms that seek to disturb and disrupt bordered space.

The statement of poetics each offers on how their identity within the undocumented diaspora and art come together, or specifically contextualizing the pieces included is what made this such a vibrant, piercing, and wonderfully slow read. The poetics statements are prose poems in themselves, as Jan-Henry Gray offers, "It’s no wonder that poetry, with its profusion of broken lines, is home to so many of us."

The editors ask us to consider: "What danger does the reader present?" to listen closely to what is shared, to remember what speaking can cost, what it can free, and to see the threat we may ourselves pose to undocumented communities when we do not listen closely. I was reminded again and again of how much poetry can teach us, the privilege of the reader to learn through the "resonant whisper" of the poem.

I was drawn especially towards the many pieces by undocuqueer poets, and those centering the natural world, bugs, desert, waterways, poetry as a borderless land.

"Immigration without home going is just
An insect frenzy...

There is a world where I awaken

Under another chest or a new name
inheriting nothing but relief.

If I am alive, I am still on my way."
- Sanctuary by Laurel Chen (24)

"We were torn apart at the last moment, Dorothy, and our joints unhinged. The wind was a violence that whipped my hair, and when we settled, we did not get all the right parts. My hand has never moved like the water again."
- A Dream, a Gale by Suzi F. Garcia (42)

"The weapon fills the silence. The music of horns and wounded fur gets sniped and snuffed,
while I deer-human, I, deer-human, trot with wild terror through her blue-sage thighs."
- Dreamwalk Hunt by féi hernandez (61)

"Because the bird flew before
there was a word
for flight

years from now
there will be a name
for what you and I are doing."
- Cenzontle by Marcelo Hernandez Castillo (71)

"I peered down from the wire, so much
falling held slightly off the ground-
the hum of entanglement our steps just
hovered over. the buzz of containment
barely escaped. I was strung between the poles
stretching to be everywhere. Let me belong
to everybody now..."
- The Alien/nation/body in search of wings by Tobi Kassim (95)

"And yesterday the 5th circuit courts

declared DACA illegal. And I am
more tired than I was last week.

I never asked for DACA.
The truth is, tomorrow there's another

hurricane with another name
and America is still America is still America."
- Between Americas by Aline Mello (130-1)

"I don't blame them
for the way they live
I even pray for them
as they die
I pray that their next lives
are filled with less mercy
and more sovereignty"
- The poem where the ants are immigrants and I am the U.S. by Jorge Quintana (150)

"Who said anything about misery. I know my place between
the space of open throat and song."
- All American Ghazal by Dujie Tahat (188)

"Borders lie- we belong not to nations but to each other and ourselves." - Patrycja Humienik (76)

[Brice Montgomery · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thanks to NetGalley and Harper Perennial for the ARC!

Who do you picture when you hear the word “undocumented”?

You shouldn’t have an image in mind, but you probably do, and The Undocupoets’ brilliantly anthologized Here to Stay will gently but willfully complicate it at every turn, resisting the border-shaped erasure created by political discourse.

The range in themes, styles, and subject matter in this anthology serves as a necessary contrast to this kind of reductionism. Some of these pieces are formally adventurous, whereas others find their shape within the constraints of conformity. In much the same way, some of these fifty-two writers favor a dissolution of borders entirely, while others simply crave assimilation through legal status. Each poet prefaces their work with an artist’s statement, and many of these moved me to tears while also offering aesthetic context.

Hermelinda Hernandez writes about “the cold grammar of immigrant linguistics” and the dehumanizing force of government documentation.

Jan-Henry Gray describes undocumented writing as “an act of forging (something new, one hopes) and a kind of forgery.”

Elmo Tumbokon articulates the tension implicit in representation—that visibility politics is a threat: “To confess my being is to risk my safety.”

What’s most striking about the collection is how rarely these poets choose to strike back. Immigration law is codified violence, and one might expect a series of fiery poems, raging against the machine. Some of those are present here, to be sure, but so many of these poems seem to view a radical gentleness as the only way forward.

For example, Laurel Chen’s “Greensickness” is the kind of gorgeous that makes your ribcage collapse—“Let me be lawless and beloved.”

Similarly, in “The poem where ants are immigrants and I am the U.S.,” Jorge Quintana writes, “I pray that their next lives / are filled with less mercy / and more sovereignty.”

Poems like this are inarguable. They defy response (except, perhaps, for tears). They are political statements that subvert the language of power. They don’t fit into the categories prescribed by either side of the political spectrum. They can only be accepted.

I think Jane Kuo says it most clearly in her statement of poetics, inviting readers into discomfort: “My poems present the reader with a choice: come here and sit with me or choose not to be implicated, to remain on the outside, eavesdropping.”

It's such a privilege to sit with all of these poets and their art.

[Fred Dameron · Rating 4 out of 5]

The poets of the undocumented diaspora tell their stories, but as I read the poems I find I have more in common with them than I do with the oppressors here in Abilene TX. Especially the work of Marcelo Hernandez Castillo. I, like him, am a recovering Alcoholic. He admits as much in his short prepoem blurb and I have no issue with my demons. But his poems do make a statement and ask a good question: how do you stay clean and sober when you are undocumented? It's hard enough to stay sober with out the extra worry of ICE. raids. Other poets wrote their poetry in a manner that the poem is read two and even in parts three different ways. Got me thinking about the discombobulation in the poets life, almost all form being undocumented. I also have PTSD (Here after PTS, I don't have a disorder ) and I see the same PTS in many of the poems. Just because you have not been arrested by ICE yet, doesn't mean it may not happen tomorrow. There is always that YET. And that alone could drive one into the hell of PTS with the accompany of nightmares and substance abuse. Especially with out health care and self medicating. There are also odes to good moms and good dads. As a look back on my father and my relationship I find myself envious of these writers, who despite being hunted, have or had a better relationships with their dads'. Their odes to their dad is very touching. I enjoyed them all. Well worth the $19.00 and a great read.

[Sydney Curran · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thank you to Harper Perennial and Paperbacks via NetGalley for this ARC.

What a thought-provoking read. The prose and poetry through all of the artists, alongside the editors’ placing statements from each contributor about why they write to poetry opened my eyes to the many different forms living as an undocumented individual can take on a person. There was heartache, joy, and calls to radicalize against the colonial structures that harm all of us, and it is a read I highly recommend.

[Alejandra Salemi · Rating 5 out of 5]

Finished reading this after the 2024 election and the uncertainty that surrounds our undocumented siblings. This book is… beautiful, heartbreaking, eye-opening, enraging. Sparking both so much hope and hopeless at once.

The editing of this book is beautiful. It’s one of my first collections of poems that I’ve read so maybe it’s not novel, but it’s novel to me. I appreciated being able to read a bit about the author before reading their selected pieces.

[Stephanie · Rating 5 out of 5]

This anthology is that PERSONAL.

No matter your documented status, this anthology is loud and clear, a reflection of us. The roller coaster that is currently life and world events. This is a collection of for the soul.

Pick up this book. Read it, highlight it and re-read it.
Connect with the authors. Let’s make a difference, together.

[Sophia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Beautiful collection of works but I honestly more enjoyed reading the short statements written by the authors the preceded their poetry or prose in the collection. Lots of wonderful insight and emotional connection.

[Albert · Rating 5 out of 5]

Haunting. The struggle is unbelievable.

[Nancy · Rating 5 out of 5]

I won this via a Goodreads Giveaway, and it's a phenomenal collection! Highly recommended.

[Max · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’m not even done with this anthology yet but I had to leave a review because im only about 1/3 the way through and I have already laughed and cried and raged and been moved so many times. The anthology is full of brilliant writers with so many different perspectives and yet all of their words resonate so deeply with me. Thank you for the anthology and thank you to the authors for sharing something of yourselves with the world!! Also the cross references section is awesome and I love that y’all took the time to find and name some themes! Also I got this book from my local library, and I hope many people read it after I’m done 🩵

[Lisa · Rating 5 out of 5]

Beautifully written by beautiful people. Must read

[Arda · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5/5. What a great collection.

[Sarah Engelmann · Rating 5 out of 5]

Particularly poignant anthology of work right now.

[aria · Rating 5 out of 5]

such a cool project. honored to have gotten an arc.