So, I Was Born

To be alive — so much work to be done. 

Not so simple as man meets woman, woman meets IVF, immaculate conception. 

No tricks, maybe one night of treats.

Planets had to pass at the right coordinates at the right time, 

to align at the precise moment that 

ancient people stood atop their white-stoned pyramids: 

palms up, longing to float up into the galaxies 

that housed their serpent gods.

Sacrifice wasn’t what their hearts craved. 

It was pretending to bow to a blood-stained cross 

gifted by those who come from the other side of the world. 

“Dios te salve, Maria, llena eres de Gracia; el Señor es contigo.”

Some unseen power willed those survivors to stay. 

Because there was so much work left to do. 

Land deeds had to be signed 

passed from father to son, 

from son to son, 

and, finally, to his daughter.

Fate taught that daughter to look up 

from writing a letter at the kitchen table, 

to lock eyes with a man passing by the screen door. 

And still, there was much to do.

We–lowly mortals of this millennium–

no longer feel the misty rain 

of wishes that fall from stars and grace altars.

But one woman could. 

Within her bloomed the power 

to see into this world and the next. 

She understood 

how much work it took to make 

one faint heartbeat– 

heard in a clinic on Alameda. 

And she saw what would bloom in this body, 

to lay down the stories that needed to survive 

to continue the work 

that was still to be had.

So, 

I was born.