i showed my students a picture of

my childhood home today

“I’m from a big white house

with the giant maple tree still standing”

These were the words of my

“Where I’m From” poem

“Que rico estuviera” YanCarlos called me out

not seeing the old Chevy Nova,

four bicycles on top,

my dad’s homemade trailer behind,

my mother, father, sister, me,

our dog, our cat,

inside the tiny car,

ready to drive 1200 miles

for a future in Denver

Denver, a mile high,

a million jobs,

or so we… THEY… thought?

How deceptive a photo can be,

bragging riches

when there were just empty pockets,

an almost-lost mortgage,

a pile of debt.

Yet here we are,

here I am,

begging them to write me a poem

even if it’s in Spanish,

Even if they haven’t a single photo of their home,

their family,

their past.

Where they are from

Is

And will always be

so much more painful

Than that old Chevy.