The hardest part about loving undocumented

Today you woke up at 2am to squeeze in more time at work. As if you don’t work enough.

You try like mercy to keep the alarm from waking me but the truth is I was already up, waiting. I watch you prepare yourself in the darkness. It is a quiet offering to this goddess.

I’d like to say “don’t go, I can’t sleep without you!” but I won’t demean your sacrifice.

Kiss me! Then you are gone. It seems like there is only work and loneliness for you and I until late evening.

We hear you knock. The girls rush to greet you at the door. I pretend I’m lost in pots and chopping sounds in the kitchen. You must pay by making your way through my labyrinth of attitude. You must pay when you have already paid because I can’t help but be angry that you are late once again. You reach out to hug me with those big strong arms. I am about to serve you a side of grief with your asada, just the way you like it. Lucky for you I remember those arms are tired from handling “the customers” fuss and demands. You clean away their dirt and dysfunction to make them feel like they are something special 6 days a week.  I hate those thieves in silence for using those arms and those hands.

You read my anger, but you are wrong about the why.

You are so jealous! How can you act as though there is another?

A woman? I laugh my bruja laugh.

 I am angry strangers see you more then I and yet they never really see you. You are meaningless to them. Some might even hate you. Those long brown eyes and Olmec lips are only mine but I am still envious for lost time. I make myself remember the many things you do for me that are never spoken of. Praise Jesus, you have never lost a tire to one of my xicana rages.( It is mythical, I promise).

Your mask is off and you are quiet on the sofa with your beer and tele. Soon your eyes are closed. Finally. Asleep. Once again you are hundreds of miles away from me, playing in the mountains with your brothers or swimming with your friend cinta in the lake. Well I know this is the only time you get to see them so I let you be.

From day light into the dark you are mine. I just have to remember.

They do not see you, but I do, mi Indio querido, even when you are far away.


I see you by Acaxochitl Cavazos
I see you by Acaxochitl Cavazos





Artist at The Flowering Reed
Acaxochitl is a proud mother, a lover of words, and an artist. She enjoys creating art that reflects her indigenous roots and hopes to inspire other Xicanas to get creative.

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