“Grito de Dolores” (English Translation)

"Grito de Dolores"

Abuelo held my feet tightly.
I sat on his shoulders
as I reached for the stars.

The fireworks ignited,
God-like specks in the sky
glistened before my eyes.

“¡Que viva!” 
the crowd yelled with pride. 
They called it El Grito de Dolores.

Only six, could not 
understand the meaning of 
that night in September.

All I knew were family Sundays
crossing back and forth between borders 
and the  himmo  I sang in the halls.

Illuminated by an understanding 
of heritage. I discovered my
homeland, 600 miles away from it.

My own identity.

Today, the Chicana fireworks
light my path under the same sky.
Sparked by a faint and rooted memory 
of my Abuelo and El Dieciséis de Septiembre.

Original poem here