by Reyna Espinoza
I was born of sunrise and pesticides,
of strawberries and struggles.
I was raised with sunburns
and church on Sunday,
where my knees memorized
the wood of the prie-dieu,
where prayers were counted, not answered,
and hope stayed lowered,
like a head that forgot how to rise.
I was cared for by hands in the fields
and latchkey afternoons,
alone.
I was born of twelve-hour workdays
and the love of an immigrant mother,
the fight of an immigrant father,
of sweaty bean burritos
and spoiled strawberries in their sleeves,
with mud up to their knees
and a paycheck that faded every week.
Because of sunrise,
pesticides,
struggles,
I am here.
Sunburns, mud,
endless workdays.
I am here.
I am present.
I am here, standing strong,
being the voice,
holding the struggles,
bearing the battles.