Memories of my birth city soften my dreams.

Mama and I walked to the market

 On the way to school in the morning. I lingered

 Over the limes and oranges, sniffing the cilantro until I was dizzy,

Or until she shooed me on my way.

The clarity of the air, the colors that washed the buildings, Mama’s hand in mine,

 This is what I remember of San Miguel de Allende.

Mama told me we would leave when we could, go to America and become rich

Like Aunt Ines. When I was ten, the day came.

“Goodbye, mi abuela,” I said

 With tears in my eyes and excitement giving me goose bumps.

She promised to join us someday.

Mama and I sat for hours on a burping bus

Full of chickens in cages, round-eyed babies on round mothers’ laps

Young boys played cards or dice with slouching teenagers,

Hooting at one another with their jibes.

We have been in America ten years now.

Someday did not come with mi abuela as a passenger.

I will return to visit San Miguel de Allende.

Where we breathed cool, fresh air.

Surrounded with the blazing colors of Mexico.

No white houses with white picket fences

No rich neighborhoods with gates locked against the world.

Mexico is hot pink, purple, fuschia.

It is red and gold bougainvillea climbing

Stuccoed walls painted blue.

On my someday, who knows when, I will breathe in

The colors of my birthplace and reach out for the stars.

The stars hang so close to Earth there

As if San Miguel is a gateway to heaven.