Deep in the mountains of Jalisco,
Christmas was celebrated with the flesh of bulls.
Slit by the edge of the matador before becoming breakfast the next day.
On my uncle’s busted down barely functional pickup truck.
We moved through towns, crossing cattle ranches
and resting fields of corn that prayed for rain.
Without insurance or seat belts, we rode on the trucks bed.
Moving through bumpy roads riddled with potholes.
Praying for our souls to stay in place.
The corn in the tortillas came from my uncle’s field.
Ground and mixed into masa by my aunt’s wrinkly hands.
Like the smack in the face salsa,
formed from the garden and crushed in the molcajete.
At a cousin’s baptism party we ate meat or what we thought was meat.
Only to find out from my brother that it was blood
from the morning slaughter of pigs.
Stirred up with onions and salt.
For we were never allowed to celebrate life
without taking one in exchange.
Ramon Jimenez is an educator and writer from Seattle, Washington. Mr. Jimenez works as a high school social studies and language arts teacher. Along with teaching, he runs a writing program for youth called, “The Boot,” where young people can develop their voice through poetry, spoken word, rap and storytelling. Ramon enjoys writing poetry and short stories that focus on immigrant communities, geopolitics, culture and travel.