When I was ten
I asked the bracero
how to count in Spanish.
Young, smooth tan skin,
he smiled, and taught me.
I laughed when he
got to eight. It’s like
sneezing, I said,
Ocho! Salud,
he answered.
Salad? I asked.
The men were cutting
wheat, pushing it into
the baling machine-
Five wire bales
are harder to flip
up onto the truck.
The elixir of hay
fragrance makes me
giddy to this day.
I hope his grandchildren
are safe on this
DACA Day,
June 18, 2020:
Gracias for the
sneeze and awakening.
beautiful poem and timing!