Undocumented Joy
I don’t remember crossing
so I can not tell you about the journey
sometimes I close my eyes
and imagine a pitch black sky
with a thousand little stars
I image a poetic crossing
my grandmother’s hand tugging at my arm
a rush of wind
Abuelo leading the way
I image a crossing without fear
just dreams
and Abuela’s goals
to raise my brother and I
into hardworking men
I crossed without the trauma
latching unto my body
crossed unscarred
even tho
mis viejitos tell me
how they had to
stuff the four of us under the backseat of a car
sometimes I wish I could remember
then maybe just maybe
I would have another story to tell
I can only tell you about how poor we were
living in that small apartment
in the Eastside
how embarrassed I was
to invite my friends over
even tho we all lived like this
I can only tell you about how proud I was
of Abuela
who asked me to teach her english
scribbled on our refrigerator door
you can sometimes see the residue
of the markers I used to teach her basic words
I wish you would ask of the memories
I had before my identity became political
about the laughs
the joy
the things I love
about the way I have managed to survive
I wish I could tell you about the journey
but all I know is that I am here
and I am not going anywhere
this is home.
