before I was born I was an inconvenient

bulge in an already starving belly
a consequence. Ma’s decision
to drop out of college. a catalyst.
 

pa didn’t make it to Noche Buena.
or Ano Nuevo. or the third trimester.
my great tia’s bastard child and a prayer

to the almighty Papa Dios
 

before I was born I was poor, hungry,

eager as the northern star to light

the way above the infinite desert.
a kick in mama’s gut.
 

a thirst. a will

before I was born I was the thumping

in Mama’s heart at the border
running through dust and from men
both in uniform and not.

I drank dirty river water and danced
punta to her quickened pulse
starting from the belly pregnant with fear

across her rib cage and

Through every artery

I was born just beyond
the border in Santa Teresa,
my newly formed head
bowed to mama’s Santa Maria
baptised in blood, feces,
and American pride.