Big Sweaters

xicana fits me like a big sweater. the kind mamí and papí used to sort through at the second hand stores. With the itchy browns, and the yellow buttons, and some with holes. they belonged to someone else, the memories, woven with small nimble fingers, and tongues sticking out. At home i run to stand on my tippy toes in the mirror, the sleeves run off my wrists, and i put hands on my hips, turning poses to see how id look best. just like the sweater, the identity of la xicana isn't always born with us but rather one handed down through generations intertwined with the struggles, voices, history, and xingonismo worn on someone else's back. now it's our turn to carry that identity and continue the work and the activism and the resistance until we grow into our sweaters and make our own holes and replace the button and make it itchier.