I was born at the wrong place

At the wrong time

Both my parents seeking a better life

For my sister and I

To find comfort across the border

Where movie stars and country folk

Looked deceivingly happy

Slowly becoming part time parents

Obsessed with full time jobs

Papa comes home with stains of green

On his pants from working in the fields

Since three

In the morning

Left with thoughts of his father who died when he was young

Who understands we depend on him

Just like his six siblings had in the past

Papa who deprives himself of sleep

Just so he can see his children be seen as something more than

Tan skin and mechanics who work in the south end

So we don’t have to hear a pained

“Mija”

Proceeded with “forgive me” and “next week” and “I promise”

Mama who hesitates when we ask if we can sleep over at Mary’s house

Because she goes over all the bad things that could happen when she’s not there

Things that happened to her when she took the late night train when cerdos pulled the end of her blouse

Mama who never got her diploma

Everyday working at a factory with men who whistled and hollered

“Ay Mamacita”

Who now makes dinner with whatever she can find

Because there is no money for food

Because it’s been a month since her check has been due

Years of tilted pigtails and ketchup soup

They decided to leave for the American Dream

Praying to god

It was just like what they saw in movies and TV

So that maybe we didn’t feel the urge to cover ourselves

Every time we walked down street

So that maybe we didn’t have to add iron bars to our already chipped windows

So that maybe we could have more opportunities to succeed

So that maybe we didn’t have be told we couldn’t

My sister took lead

And memorized every state capital

And made sure to read

Every word as if it were her mother tongue

Learned how to be an adult at the age of fifteen

While kids her age acted like children

Knowing they didn’t have to grow up

Until they grew into their office uniforms and graduation caps

Picking red or blue as if choosing teams in a game

Where you lose unless you know how to be played a certain way

Complaining about cars that are “so last year”

While she comes home with the smell of coffee beans and vanilla

Closing up like a Sanguinaria in the evening

Waking up to the buzzing of people who pick and pluck

Believing that she can’t speak up

All of them believing that we won’t wake up

El Sueño Americano

Where the dream is short lived

Stuck in a constant state of sleep paralysis

Where those like me are just bothersome calluses

In the hand of the President

Where we’re harassed with pitchforked words

Because calls to our mothers

Infuriate and trigger words written on his keyboard

Pushes and shoves

Death threats galore

That I wish to ignore

We are taught to fend for ourselves

But right now

I will never stop speaking for those like me

Who wish out of the “American dream”