It all began in a small town in Mexico.
A forgotten, isolated town of poverty.
Our daily food of pinto beans and my grandmothers tortillas.
Her skilled hands so used to cooking for 15.
Her tortillas were so fat and soft.
We lived in a cattle ranch, my father’s proud possession.
Papi and Mami’s marriage was an event so celebrated they closed down every street.
With a green card he worked in the U.S. and would but come home on Christmas time.
Each time he came he left my mother with a baby bump until it was my turn.
On my 5th birthday my mother had enough of never seeing Dad.
We followed him to Oregon.
We quickly learned that to survive we had to work.
He took us to work in the orchards of Hood River.
Every year we’d travel back to Mexico to our native town.
The christmas presents there brought many smiles to our hearts.
No amount of time will ever bring him back.
I do remember when he took me, and only me, to Zacatecas.
There we prayed and asked of God.
I was lost until I came to a conclusion of living life today.
The joy that frappuccino brought on that car ride home is so imprinted on my mind.
When my sister, Dad, and I took to singing songs.
I can still hear the lyrics of his song, his favorite song, Mi gusto es.
There is no use crying now.
In my mind I’m still riding home with Dad.