Where I am from, we are raised in cradles built from mountains and in blankets spun with sand. We fall asleep to coyote lullabies and rattlesnake bells. A desert suburbia, with pink and purple sunsets and a white star on the horizon. A big city with a small town feel, is what I like to call it. Where I am from, we greet each other in English, kiss in Spanish, and leave with regret. Living the best of both worlds, but never belonging to either. A culture built from the scraps those around us didn't want. We were mutts living in a skyscraper oasis, but one where life blossomed. The Passage to the North and to the promise of opportunity. The warmth of the desert is mirrored by those who are lost in it. People that are hospitable, welcoming and content. Where I am from, adults build families and comfort, growing to an old age, when hair changes like the silver moon. Where I am from, cradles of mountains become cages, blankets of sand become binds. The star on the pink and purple horizon is a jail keeper that laughs at futile attempts of escape. Where I am from, people live in the obliviousness of their inability to run away from the desert. Hot air drowns me, crushing my lungs as they fill with sand.
Now , all I do is dream of flying away, to the land of concrete and fortune and fun.
Hoping of returning to the place where I am from.
