I was a bud of flesh
grown from a flower
my mother, an immigrant
A woman who believed in the magic
of her brown little boy
growing against the sides of her womb
almost more than she believed in God
My mother, a mexican
labored long
until I was born on an early evening in October
and already she loved me
like the world she knew was going to pry me away
two days and 600 miles later,
my grandmother, aunt, and uncle arrived
three magi traveling North
crossing the state lines in a lowrider ’83 Cutlass Supreme
with tires so worn from the journey
they were replaced upon arrival
Gifts, Spanish lullabies, and love
All of this for me, only hours old
All this for my mother, a young woman,
an immigrant, a mexican