I am from the valley of pastoral congregation,
From the land dominated by corn stalks standing like soldiers with beans at their feet
The brain of the squash still buried deep within our soil as the land above it shifts
I am the sunbathed dirt that cakes the seeds of those before me
They bloom, in time, the same as they did before I was born
I am the sprout by the waterside with hopes of becoming larger
Ripening with color and bulk until ready to be chosen
I am from the river that flows long and proud across a seemingly barren land
Bringing a taste of air fit for cultivation within the soft soil in its wake
The smell of its riptide hangs in the air with wisps of culture at its tail
I am the smoke from a pyre of explorers roasting newfound meat
Hands filled with bags of new commodities and spices by the spit of the fire
I am the trade between two cultures, their flavors mixed within my blood
Cattle and sheep intertwined with onions and corn, the plentiful wind carries them through time
The sting of chili hangs in the air, passionate heat searing the edges of the nostrils
I am the one who waits for his line of peppers and jalapenos strung together
By my mother’s blood driving the instinctual urge for warmth atop the palate of my soul
And the efforts of all the precursors of this land who watched over the dirt
Whether wet or cold, hurtful to touch, or dry and feeble within one’s fingers
I am the progeny of such, having grown just like the corn or the beanstalks or the squash vines
Intertwined within the dirt that has kept their most intrinsic designs within their dark specks
A primordial scent, taste, and touch along a smooth timeline fashioned as a lifetime
Within the earth.