My best friend doesn’t know who she is anymore

She is a coyota

Culturally stretched beyond the limits of a black and white definition

She straddles the border outlined by the Rio Grande

Mezclera

She has moved so many times that Albuquerque is a skin grafted home

The right shade but a tight, itchy fit

She tries to act like the burqueña she is called when she wings her eyeliner and says e-jole and a-la-mode in every sentence

But in private school she is expected to be an academic success story

Tries to assert heritage and cultura in an atmosphere where money bleaches skin color

Her gramita spits fire when they are called Mexican

Because, even though they are Mexican,

She has been taught this is nothing to be proud of

She throws up adobe walls when asked what is wrong with just being Lexie

She preaches confused heritage as the well for her tears

But prays to Santa Maria in her sleep to please take her home

 

She calls me her adopted Mexican

For being in AP Spanish and loving tamarindo

Even though I am as white as the horchata in Pro’s cafeteria

I am a coyota

I am just as likely to fall into e-jolé as oh lawd jesus

My friends all say I was supposed to be born Afro-Mexicano

When really I’m just desperately struggling to make up for the culture I am lacking

I have been taught to be ashamed of the lack of pigment in my skin

I have no heritage to be proud of

Because everything I am is white European and even the miniscule but of Native American is fucking Canadian

New Mexico is home

But I am an alien in the land I was born and raised in

I stand obvious among mountain rock and desert sand

 

When she says we are more than sisters,

I believe her

We dance in moonlight on desert nights in summer

We belong to no pack

Even though our appearances may contradict each other

The contrast in melanin only accentuates our differences

Underneath our skin is sandy fur

We are coyotas

Howling our loss and loneliness at the same desert moon