Dedicated to my beautiful immigrant grandparents who helped raised me.
Love born in the city of Michoacán,
Known as the soul of Mexico,
Dreaming of a better life,
A desire for a big family,
Squeezed tightly into four rooms.
Roots left in Mexico,
Left my own family behind;
In the projects, we built a home,
Ten children, laughter echoing in small spaces.
Tradition was every meal shared,
Recipes are our legacy,
Each bite a piece of history.
It’s my job to br
Windows to generations past,
Language barriers with memories that last.
I see you, and I can barely see me,
Though I feel you are family.
In the blink of innocence,
I wish I could tell you more—
Homemade tortillas,
Made from my hands, now yours.
You are Mexican American,
But Mexican first;
We put our family first,
Rosaries from my home—
You are never alone
Whispers of ancestors guide our steps;
We celebrate holidays in the food we prep.
I came to be part of so much more,
Not to a country that closes the door.
Sadness lingers for the love unreturned,
But I embrace my culture, rich in hues,
Standing firmly on the ground,
In my huaraches, I choose.