Alyssa Soria, I May Not Look Like You

I May Not Look Like You

ALYSSA SORIA

You have hazel eyes, Skin that is the color of tree bark, Brown hair that fades to silver. I have brown eyes, Skin that is the color of the moon, Dark hair that fades to brown. At sixteen, you were saying your wedding vows, Laughing and having cake, Holding onto your children. At sixteen, I had a birthday party. I too was laughing and having cake, Holding onto my presents. You then made a brave choice to cross the borders of America. You were in the unknown, but you had to meet your brother on the other side; Having to leave everything, even your children, for everybody. I chose to go to college, even when people in my family didn’t know. I arrived on campus in the unknown, but I had to make it to the other side; Having to leave everything, even my home, for everybody. You cleaned, mopping the floors in a new house every week, To some it was little, but to you it was everything. Every night you made a warm cooked meal for everybody. I made pizzas and swept the floors, I made thirteen dollars an hour, Every night, I came to my dorm, a microwaved meal waited for me. I learned the challenges immigrants faced when coming to America, You experienced the challenges that came with coming to America: Not knowing the language, Adapting to the new norm, new lifestyle. I knew the language, but in the process, forgetting my culture. Growing up in the norm and living the new lifestyle, Not knowing the American dream as a Latina. But you knew the responsibility and foundation that could start, Not just wanting more for you but us. I wonder what the American dream is for me as a Latina, But I knew what the cost was and the foundation you laid for us, Not just for me, but for the family beyond me.

You tell me what home was like in Mexico in the kitchen, Creating symphony with the home when you talk about your homeland. You sing me a song with your stories. As I sit with you in the kitchen and remind me where I came from. I learn how far you’ve come from the other side; I now know the story of where we’ve come from. We are here in America holding hands, Telling the stories that were once our present. We are different but connected through the stories told. My little grandma, sing me the song again.