I’m from the dollar sundays and chicken nugget specials--
but usually enchiladas y chiles rellenos.
I’m from the used and unwanted,
a little stretched and torn.
From the peek over my shoulder
hope it’s not your hand me downs.
I’m from that little chirp town,
with vanilla and chocolate faces,
and I was just a caramel
that swirled at the pozole parties.
Where homemade pinatas poured spicy candies
down on confused but happy faces.
I’m from monkey bars and gel pen creations
tire swing twirls and hammack rockers
I’m from inside dumpsters
filled with wilted flowers
and flower shop men
warning of dangerous things
I’m from railroad noise and
squished railroad coins.
I’m from pine cone trees
and bitter winter breeze,
and a few kids tease
because I live in two worlds.
The english and spanish where
roots could just vanish.
I would lay with the weeds
and tell God of my wants
but mostly my needs.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves us.
He loves us not.