La Fiesta de Traje de Saginaw,” Lauren Wells

La Fiesta de Traje de Saginaw

Lauren Wells

This is a place where masa is spread thickly with sticky palms on cornshell husks where strangers are welcomed with the open arms, a Buena Vista uncle, ushered in with an earthy grin & where laughter warms the balmy air, humming like the smell of tamales at Rico’s, or my grandmother’s cast-iron wood stove, a place

full of neighbors, Ring-Kirkham built brick & mortar home light gossip bouncing from lip to lip, shared between new & old friends, a railroad understanding— museum art dancing from the tip of one tongue to another— a quilted scrap community singing in crammed concrete solidarity.

Saginaw, I believe in your Motown-Country-Rock’n’Roll-Mariachi Soul. Your Old Town murals gather stories and stones from every road & your people’s eyes reflect the base of this city, no matter how cracked, crumbled, and corroded, the fractures filled by the strength of its natives, a sturdy, tall Bean tower silhouette who knows its past, who knows who it will become, raised proud in its broad river, working-class roots.