Land of the Cranes Read online

Page 3


  the one signed and dated

  Betita-September 17

  Ms. Martinez’s handshake is

  warmer than yesterday’s.

  She holds my hands between

  hers like an empanada

  in an oven

  and blinks her small lashes.

  Do you have any questions, Betita?

  Before I can cry, I ask:

  Why would ICE take my papi?

  He only works.

  Hurts nobody.

  Will they make him go back

  to the mountain where

  mean men can hurt him?

  Back to an Abuelita Lola

  whose soft wrinkles

  we aren’t supposed to know?

  She hugs me and answers,

  They might, sweet Betita.

  Those who make laws don’t care

  how much your father gives.

  Their laws are not always fair.

  But there are others who might help him.

  They are fighting for all those who migrate.

  Two days since I’ve seen Papi’s smile.

  My own smile hides beneath my sadness.

  So, I tug the cut pillow cloth

                                          up

  to my nose

  and smell

  the trace

  of his feathers

  in the cotton.

  Mami tells our flock

  after three days they finally found

  where they are keeping Papi.

  Tía Raquel brings us

  caldo de verduras and tortillas

  enough for the whole week.

  Tío Juan brings us

  people in suits

  (lawyers, they call them)

  who remind me of Ms. Martinez

  with the way they speak

  Spanish to Mami

  English to themselves

  though Mami can speak both.

  I only catch one of their names …     Fernanda.

  I don’t understand

  so many words.

  “Petition,”    “failed to appear,”   “political asylum,”   “deportation”

  only that Papi will be

  put on a plane and flown

  to Mexico.

  Papi will not be able to

  come back to us

  for ten years, if he is lucky.

  Fernanda explains,

  He failed to appear in court

  to have his petition heard.

  It calls for immediate deportation.

  But he didn’t receive notice!

  Mami’s explanation collapses like

  the crushed tissue in her hand.

  What about ours?

  Yours is still current but I will

  also file for political asylum.

  There is no telling how long it will take

  or if your case will be approved at all.

  Or, we could go

  meet him in Mexico

  a place too dangerous

  to call home.

  Time is slipping.

  Mami has to decide.

  She cups her hands

  over her tummy

  and lowers her face

  to the ground.

  Our flock huddles around Mami

  touches the brown tips

  of their wings together

  and holds her

  while she cries.

  Papi once told me,

  The Nahuatl name for brown cranes is tocuilcoyotl.

  Some lighter cranes cover their feathers

  with mud to hide from predators while nesting.

  I want to run out

  to our yarda

  and make a mud pile

  so big

  there is

  enough

  to cover

  our entire

  duplex

  from

  the

  world.

  Mami sends me to school

  with Diana and Amparo.

  She has been sick

  in the bathroom

  all morning.

  A rope of knots

  turned in my panza too

  when I helped Mami

  to bed

  before I left.

  As I walk, I wonder

  if the plane Papi was on

  flew higher

  than the travel paths

  of birds.

  I wonder if Papi

  is with Abuelita Lola yet

  though we aren’t

  even supposed to call

  her on the phone

  because they might

  find us.

  I wonder if he was allowed

  to take his hammers with him

  to help him fight

  if the cartel

  comes for him.

  I wonder if he’s hiding

  in the mountain

  in a nest

  built of mud.

  I wish we were

  with Papi

  and I didn’t

  have a Mami

  so sad, she’s sick

  and alone

  in bed.

  Diana says,

  Be patient with your mami. On top of everything else

  the new baby she’s carrying is turning her upside down.

  A baby, our own egg?

  Why didn’t she tell me?

  Oh! I’m sorry, Betita. I thought you knew.

  I shake my head and bite my lower lip.

  Maybe ’cause she didn’t want to worry you.

  It’ll be okay, Betita. She’ll feel better in a month or two.

  I don’t understand

  why Mami and Papi

  keep things from me.

  Hey, it’s good to be an older sister!

  Babies are squishy all over and they

  giggle when you act goofy.

  Amparo opens her eyes wide.

  But then, I don’t hear Amparo anymore

  because I think about the color

  of the shell around Mami’s baby

  inside the nest of her body.

  I worry because now we have

  another thing to hide.

  I worry.

  How will we ever move a wounded nest?

  Ms. Martinez calls us

  into a circle at the reading carpet

  and Principal Brown is there too

  and so are some people

  in fancy clothes

  called social workers.

  It turns out ICE stands for

  Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

  They are the ones doing “round-ups”

  collecting birds in cages

  clipping their wings

  and sending them back

  to where they were born.

  Ms. Martinez encourages us

  to make a picture poem

  or talk if we feel like it

  or cry if that’s what

  turns inside us

  scared tears

  worried tears

  questioning tears

  crane tears

  and we do.

  They give us instructions:

  Make a family plan

  in case someone in your

  family is rounded up

  in a work raid.

  There is no comfort in

  what the fancy clothes say.

  When Pepe raises his hand

  to ask, What about learning math today?

  Ms. Martinez looks at him

  with eyes so heavy they looked closed.

  We are learning about one another.

  About the hurt in our hearts.

  Sometimes, that is the most

  important thing to learn.

  I reach into my chest and softly

  touch Papi’s pillowcase square

  that now begins to smell more

  lik
e my feathers

  than his.

  I want to go home

  and put his pillowcase

  in a jar

  so I can save the smell of Papi

  until I can

  see him again.

  I wish I knew

  what Mami is going to do.

  Will she make a plan for us?

  Will we have to wait

  all those years

  or will we go

  find him

  hiding

  in the

  mountain?

  I decide to cut half

  of Papi’s pillowcase

  and put it in a jar.

  The other half I leave

  on the pillow where

  I now sleep with Mami

  who is so sick

  she can’t take care of

  the rosy-cheeked twins

  this week.

  Mami looks at the app

  on her phone that tells

  her how much money

  we have in the bank.

  Our money is running out, she says.

  She sings me a song

  about a paraíso

  with her sweet voice

  before bed.

  She cries into her

  own pillow when

  she thinks I am

  asleep.

  We finally hear from Papi!

  Mami’s hand shakes

  so she hits speaker, sets it down

  for both of us to hear.

  I had to stay away

  from the mountain, mi vida.

  Se corre mucho peligro allí.

  It is too dangerous there.

  His voice is crashing

  and crumbling

  through the phone.

  I’m in the big city, Guadalajara.

  Are you okay, Papi?

  I’m with other cranes with broken wings

  but we help one another.

  He says he is sleeping on the street

  and looking for work

  scraped together enough

  just to make this call.

  I want to know if he has a pillow.

  He tells me,

  It’s okay, Betita.

  I make one with my jacket.

  I tell him about my pillow jar

  and how I carry him everywhere.

  He tells us about

  his own secret money tin can

  tucked in his cool gray toolbox

  with money meant to surprise

  Mami with a car.

  Mami cries and promises

  to put all of it in the bank

  and send him some

  so he can stop sleeping

  on the street and so we

  can come find him.

  When Mami tells him

  about the egg

  she has in her nest

  he cries too.

  You’ve given me medicine

  to heal what’s broken in me.

  Papi tells us he loves us

  and says before he hangs up,

  No matter how we struggle,

  remember to keep life sweet.

  For the first time

  in the two weeks

  since they caged

  my papi crane

  I smile.

  The next time

  we speak

  Papi’s got

  his own phone!

  Papi and Mami

  decide

  it is best

  for Mami

  and the egg

  and me

  to stay until

  it hatches

  and grows a little.

  Mami has lost

  two babies before.

  They worry this one

  might get lost too.

  Then, we can be

  with Papi again.

  Together.

  We make a plan with Diana

  like Ms. Martinez and

  Principal Brown said

  in case

  ICE ever

  takes Mami at work

  and I am

  left alone.

  We make a box

  of our treasures,

  a cajita for Diana

  to keep safe.

  Mami calls our box

  proof.

  Proof of what? I ask.

  That we exist and

  that we are good.

  Mami shows me

  and explains so I know too:

  our petition paperwork

  photos of us

  Abuelita Lola’s phone number

  our bank card

  bills

  medical records

  our filed taxes

  pictures of what the mean men did to your Tío Pedro

  you are not allowed to see

                          and

  this flash drive with

  a digital copy of it all.

  I add to the box of treasures

  - the picture poem Papi never saw

  - two jars:

  Papi’s pillow jar

  and a new pillow jar

  I made

  from Mami’s cut pillowcase.

  Tío Juan and Tía Raquel

  are on alert.

  Diana now has keys.

  She knows where

  to find this cajita de tesoros

  if the worst

  ever happens.

  Papi says he got the money

  Mami sent him

  I’m not sleeping

  on the street anymore!

  I have my own pillow too

  but my wings are still

  a little bit injured.

  When I cry into

  the phone he says,

  ¡Escríbeme, Betita!

  Write to tell me

  how your day went—good or bad

  or how good the chocolate milk is

  or how to spell your favorite words

  or how big the egg is getting, okei?

  But leave your sadness there.

  Remember la dulzura.

  I nod but he doesn’t see me

  through the phone.

  ¿Okei, mi Betita?

  I will, Papi.

  I’ll send you

  crane poems

  every time

  I want to

  fly with you.

  The first one I send him:

  I draw

  Mami and Papi’s bed

  with smiley faces.

  I write

  I sleep on your smiling pillow

  half of its case

  is missing like front teeth.

  Betita-October 9

  I count six months till the egg

  is supposed to hatch.

  April.

  Too long to wait to see Papi.

  Maybe Papi will make his way

  back to us before then?

  Mami tells me,

  Papi is looking for a job as an agrónomo.

  A what?

  A plant and soil scientist.

  But Papi’s a builder and a dishwasher, not a scientist?

  That is what he was before we left Mexico.

  He’s interviewing for a job on an agave farm.

  Is it far away from the mountain?

  Yes, Betita.

  No one knows who he is there.

  Papi’s hammers won’t

  be needed on the farm.

  I wonder what other

  superpowers

  my papi has

  that I’ve never known?

  Mami is back with the twins.

  She tells me she sings to them

  again

  like she used to do with me

  like she used to do

  when she was a teacher

  in Mexico.

  We teach through song

  because it makes learning fun and easier.

  Who doesn’t like a song?

  It’s true.
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  Mami learned the English

  she knows by singing

  pop songs on the radio.

  She taught me

  my colors

  my shapes

  my numbers

  and multiplication

  in Spanish

  just that way

  with her songs.

  I’ve stuck into my memory

  the address to the farm

  where Papi lives now

  because I mail him

  the picture poems

  I promised

  to keep life sweet.

  I make them during aftercare

  when I expect him

  to walk in

  smile at me

  reach out his

                                          arms like ramps

                                                      ready to lift me up

  but it is Diana

  I see each day now.

  I draw a heart

  with wings

  in the clouds

  and the East LA

  blue sky

  with the words,

  Quiero volar

  en el cielo azul

  contigo, Papi.

  Betita-November 7

  I draw a huge brown nest

  with big eyes and long eyelashes

  like Mami’s

  holding a tiny egg

  and me sitting

  crisscross applesauce

  beside it

  like I’m meditating

  holding his pillow jar

  in my hands

  with the words:

  I wait

  for the

  baby crane

  to arrive

  and dream

  to see you again.

  Betita-December 12

  On a Saturday morning without Papi

  Mami and I walk through

  our vecindad to catch the bus

  to the community clinic

  for her checkup

  with Sandra, the nurse midwife.

  Then to church.

  I practice flapping my feathers

  while I trot to keep up to Mami.

  The elotero walks fast

  past us too, the bells of

  his cart chiming into

  our steps.

  But we stop him

  to buy an elote on a stick

  dripping in mayo,

  cheese, and chile.

  Señoras wash and sweep

  their concrete porches

  yell at kids

  to move their broken bikes

  talk to one another

  over their iron fences

  hold their arms

  in a fold above their panzas.

  An old man in a vaquero hat

  rides a bike with a plastic crate

  strapped to his handlebars

  holding a real live chicken.