When my mom was pregnant with me,
she lived in Tijuana but worked in San Diego,
crossing the border every day just to work.

I was born 25 miles away from that border,
How do I tell my friend, born in Tijuana,
that the only thing separating us is 25 miles?

¿Cómo le digo a mi gente que nací en la frontera,
que lo único que nos separa
son esos 25 millas?

How do I tell my mother
a woman who started picking fruit at 13,
who moved on to cleaning houses and hotel rooms
that her neighbors,
the people she once prayed beside,
see her as a criminal?

My father still lives in Mexico.
How do I tell him that if he ever tries to see me,
he’ll be persecuted
not for his actions,
but for the sound of his voice?

And my stepfather
who has been here since his  20s
who started on the train tracks in construction,
who now works three jobs to provide for my little brothers
how do I tell him it was all in vain?

How do I tell him that the people he serves
call him an alien?

How do I tell them
those 25 miles are the only thing that separates us?

When my mom was crossing the border, it woas normal.
Most Mexicans are transborder;
they never knew there was a line meant to stop them.

A land once belonging to their ancestors,
now ripped apart
as if their roots weren’t connected,
as if they were strangers
on the soil that once called them home.

Illegal
on land their ancestors once called their own.

Leaving behind their home,
their culture,
their language,
for a place that was supposed to be better.

The only difference? 

Those  25 miles are the only thing that separate us

They couldn’t tell us apart in a lineup, even if they tried