Migrant
By Isabel Vazquez
I first hear it through the branches of the evergreen. Filtered by needles, the sound draws me in as I peer into the invisible melody from high above, searching for its composer. A flash of orange catches my eye. Through the pads of a prickly pear I spot the little vocalist: an oriole, native to the eastern state of Yucatán. What was he doing so far north in the highlands of Jalisco?
As I wonder about the little traveler, I spread out on the blanket. I hear the quiet crunch! of the grassland beneath the polyester, but it is not enough. So I reach my hands out like roots until I feel the dry grass against my palms. When I hook my fingers through a grassy tuft it creates a stillness—the kind that rises from deep within the bone, easing the tired soul.
I can finally drift to sleep on the womb of the earth.
Isabel Vazquez is a Xicana writer whose work has been featured in publications such as River Teeth Revisited, The Digital Literature Review, The Mochila Review, and Mê Tis. She is founder and editor of Alma Lit, and is currently working on completing her memoir, Mexican Hoosier. Isabel’s work aims to bridge the gap between her Mexican roots and American upbringing. Her heart lives somewhere between Indiana and Jalisco.