I am from Lysol, bleach and dust.
I am from the dirty room I should clean.
I am from the hot weather,
the Central American environment,
whose greasy foods I can still taste,
as if I just ate.
I’m from light skin and dark hair,
from Carlos and Jessica.
I’m from the hard working
and the sleep lovers,
from the “Speak up and stop talking!”
I’m from the “Do our best
with as much effort,
and good will come.”
I’m from fields and open area,
spicy foods and cold deserts,
from dad’s hair loss
due to stress from work.
The world given to me by
dad’s unquestionable strength.
In my room are pictures, displaying memories,
A pool of people gone, that fly away with hopes.
I am from this culture, born when I’m supposed to,
bringing more to this long family tree.
Williams • Mar 6, 2024 at 11:22 am
This is a really good poem. It’s short but it presents us with many emotions and experiences that people relate with. A daily reminder of what many of us go through.♥️