I am from the cliffs of Scotland,

with dreams of the Emerald Isle

and the tight laces, heavy skirts of the South.

I am from the sewing machine,

the book-keeper's pen,

and the defiant wife.


I am from the ranches of Michoacan,

where roots are shallow and deep 

and mothers smuggle their hijos to a future.

I am from the strawberry fields,

the wrong side of the tracks,

and a grandmother's prayer.


I am from the ocean's edge,

where waves crash against the shore 

and teenagers make out in backseats.

I am from the artist's studio,

the RV with matching Margarita glasses,

and terrible decisions.


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741