I see you.

this is for all the good people

who live here in the united states

and came from mexico.

i see you.

i see your children.

there are many ways of your being.

there are sharp, harsh characters, broad-brushstroke characters I am sure,

but i see the quiet, gentle people here,

working hard, living quietly desperate lives.

i hear the depth of your silence when you respond hesitantly,

or ask timidly about this or that

that you see all around you

that you know is something outside your world.

you cling to good, plain work,

wholesome labor which no one can begrudge you.

you drive a truck all the way across this country.

you leave your sleeping child in the apartment all night

while you toil in some deep laundry or grimy kitchen.

you bake, humble, while your child troops off to school.

this is what i see in your child's eyes

that is only made explicit

a third of the way through the year

at parent conferences.