I am

I am the daughter of the American migrant family
I am the mother of the next generation; the all- American kid
I am the wife of a man of a different time and place

I am the daughter of the American migrant family
I remember my father, working twenty hours a day, coming home
Smelling of dirt and sweat and despair

I take my father’s hands in mine, and count the years in his swollen disfigured knuckles,
I read our history in his scars, and hold back my tears
Because he would not understand them

I sit in my mother’s kitchen and remember the lessons she taught,
Mija, she said, her thick Spanish accent an indefinable barrier between us,
Keep your head down, keep your mouth shut, but keep your eyes open

I sit in my mother’s kitchen and hold back my tears
Because the pain I feel, pales beside the ocean my mother has cried,
I am the proud daughter of the American Migrant family

I am the mother of the next generation, the all-American kid
I hold him close to me and remember the time his heart beat in harmony with mine
And I fight the rising tide of fear for his future

I lay sleepless in the night, Obsessing over what to say,
The day he comes to me to say, “Mommy what is God?”
I am the terrified mother of the next generation, the All-American kid

I am the wife of a man of another time and place
Twelve years represents a gulf that some days,
Seems like the Grand Canyon, and on others, disappears, completely

Some days the frustration of being married to
A man, who was a man when he should have been a boy,
Leaves me clenching my fists so hard I can see the gulf in the crescent moons on my palm

I am the half of a whole that encompasses my world
If gaze into his face I can see my future, gazing back at me
I am the working wife of a working man, of another time and place


I am the proud daughter of the American migrant family
I am the terrified mother of the next generation, the All-American kid
I am the working wife of a working man, of a different time and place