John Olivares Espinoza was born and raised in
California’s Coachella Valley and is the author
of The Date Fruit Elegies. He is a freelance
writing coach and lives in San Antonio, Texas.
I want to remember myheads of cabbage shriek when he approachedwith a blade. He was that good.I’d like to think that it was okay for Pepe,his last-born son to work the fields,carrying a tin pail loaded with cucumbersbecause with each step the weightplays his spine like an accordion,and his music inspires the bracerosto hoe faster for a higher yieldof commissions. I’d like to thinkthat my mother—a young girl of 7with micro lacerations on her knucklesleft by the okra she’s picking—could unspool the collective cuts& hand the thread over to her amáto stitch together a First Communion dress.I want to think of my grandfatheras resourceful, turning a diamondback’smolt into a pair of argyle socksfor bautismos, bodas, y entierros.I’d like to think that tufts of mintsprouted from his boot prints overnight,his thumb allayed both tooth & heartache,that he could make the Salton Seaswimmable again, that the calla lilieshe nursed radiated clean light for himy Josie y Salva y Lola y Pepe y Güerritaas they trekked back to camp after dusk.
