Mexican – American Ghazal: Roots

The women plant sagebrush seeds, a sprout growing a large taproot. What can cross great lands and man made borders, but roots?

The origin of the plant; half Nuevo Progreso ranches and half from the bustling city of Reynosa. Like fibrous roots; dense formations crowding the earth’s surface and through the river run roots.

In my ancestors’ choice border town, Progreso Texas, grew a new bundle of corn. This is where they planted a new home — I am a branch of their roots.

First generations of field workers migrating and creating a network of families.
They spent their young years absorbing the sun, starting a new life and pulling out roots.

A second generation tried to spread their essence above the earth like ivies and vines. But no one told them they were strapped down to the soil by their roots.

I would never dream of being ungrateful, but I fear I run riot outside their boundaries. I wonder, couldn’t they have broken through the dirt, been adventitious roots?

I have tried to plant myself in a new field and I see the dilemma of the generations before. I leave the luscious lands and my body longs for those primary roots.

Now I question what lies off their path and yearn to break through the brush beyond. And if I do, will I take a new name besides the one that grounds me to their roots.

The only place where the Victoria waterlily blooms annually is North Carolina, even in winter. Since I can’t thrive here, shall I go there, and if so what name can I grow into that means roots?