I say fresh cut zinnia and basil
sit in tap water before me

I say maidenhair, lush and bottle-green
sit on a wooden pedestal

I say bright, colorful plants adorn my home
because I love variegation

And once I step outside
my own color is not always seen

Someone asks me, “what are you?”
I don’t say: human, what the hell do I look like?

I politely state I am Mexican, I am Mojave
I was born here if you are wondering

I do not say I am on my own homeland
I am rooted in bloodshed

This land is my land

I say snake plant, spider plant
a piece of moss-covered oak wood

I say I am closer to these entities in
spirit than other humans

I say I can list pretty things and still can’t
determine if what I say really matters

I am leaving out significance
The white page is distracting