We Are From
Eleventh Grade
We are from empanadas, guava and queso,
wrapped up all at once,
yellow and crunchy outside,
memories filled with family functions.
We are from the smell of coffee in the morning
and food in the afternoon.
We are from poems and songs and paint.
We are from Barbie with the dog,
two sisters, Ken,
and the dream convertible.
We are from loud speakers, motorcycles, music,
laughing, dominoes,
and waves clashing.
We are from the flowers
of our granny’s garden.
We are from all of the
“Que Dios te bendiga, mi niña”s
our grandmother protects us with.
We are from Algeria,
spending our summers there,
dreading the day
we have to go back to the States.
We are from busy streets,
where children roam around
with no thoughts
of what the future holds.
From the streets of Brooklyn
to the roots of Queens.
We are from Hoboken.
We are from wherever our mom
and her childhood stories are,
from where her delicious dishes are made.
We are from the aesthetic era,
from Zyzz to Skywalker
inspiring generations to come.
We are from the strongest rockhead
who’s never wrong.
We are from the plane our parents took
to come to America,
risking their own lives
to hope for a better life for us.
We are from strength and independence.