I’m from the land of no apologies
of no forgiveness
of something you did when you were seven being held against you
from set bed times and daily chores:
that one load of laundry, empty the trash, sweep the floor
nothing in the sink; nothing on the floor perfection
A family of Latinas who call each other deep die cut names
imprinted and wrong on our light and dark skin equally
white girl. brown girl. both.
I’m from households without tv or Spanish
with loud Mexican music on a Saturday morning
to accompany cleaning
playing on an exquisite stereo
I’m from you don’t retire
you work until you die
from you aren’t supposed to have bills; pay cash
i’m from trust no one
i’m from generosity doesn’t call attention to itself
pristine vehicles and manicured lawns
because no one is going to call us out
i’m letter writing
taking it to the streets
making sure the powers that be
change their minds
whether they want to or not
I am dark lipstick
and hoop earrings
of never going outside in sweatpants
I’m on the altar of Our Lady of Guadalupe
and she watches over us all
standing up to the darkness
blue robed; gold starred
a force field of prayers
both answered and still asking for more
(with apologies to George Ella Lyon’s I’m From)
Throwing Chanclas 