You grow roots where you stand
the same roots you carefully
pulled, packed, unwrapped
again and again
You settle in rooms that are too small
a single window that envisions
a dream bigger than
America, the land that doesn’t love you
but your roots never wither
Your Spanish never withers
I wear my accent like it’ll never get dirty
I will not wash it in white,
You taught me it’s easy to get mixed up in colors
You are the teacher that never went to school,
in each exhaled tradition,
sits the memory of a resilient Latina,
My mother
You move through a language you barely know
You are powerful, knowledgeable, you are
here – visible,
even when people don’t want to see you or understand you or love you
your roots are far too long to get lost in
translation, through generations
your roots will still be there ready para los que siguen
