Papi and Mija

by Christina Saenz

Inside the walls of ivy,
With tired eyes on my books
The sun never shines.
My skin turns white.
More wrinkle lines.

Outside the field of concrete,
With leather hands on levers,
The sun throws its rays.
His skin gets brown.
He counts the days.

On the phone,
I proclaim, “Papi
No more of this life”
He says, “Mija
You are more than a wife.”

“Different worlds,
Same dreams
Different hues,
But, same love”
His word imbues.

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