White with rainbow drippings.
Ribbons encase farm-worn-arms,
brown like the freshly baked pan
and peaking through las cintas
as the morning sun piques the day’s attention,
joining the rotating journey of Earth
while quinoa fields radiate with its glow.
White like the innocence and
dirty from the billowing dust as trucks
breeze past with perros in heel,
chasing a diminishing idea just as I do
while I float with lace on my breasts,
stepping forward in the only direction that makes sense anymore.
White, like me.
Colorful as my new identity.
Ecuadorian blouse becoming a second skin,
the ever extending organ connected to American blood
as it pulsates to my heart stretched with newfound roots.
I wear it with pride.
North American pride.
South American pride.
(we are one in the same)
Simple, womanly pride.