I am from cold tile floors,
coated with purple Fabuloso.
I am from wet cement drying in the backyard;
2 pairs of hands hollowed out in it.
I am from small, but meaningful Christmases,
when a birthday and holiday align
I am from a small town south.
A town I’ve been to, but never seen.
I am from sweet coffee in the mornings,
from 5am alarms,
and goodbyes in the dark.
I am from the hot, and cold desert-
a trek I will never have to make.
I am from smelly goalkeeper gloves after a hard game.
from my brother’s sternness and empathy
from his silence
from his love
I am from my mother’s love of simplicity
from my father’s hard work
I am from those before me who never thought of such a life.
from those whose only goal was to eat.
I am from those who never got a chance.
from those who died trying.
I am from them and they are from me,
Both running through our veins.