Mateo’s 8th Birthday

Elizabeth N. Flores 

January 5, 2025

Men and women and children 

are crossing the Laredo Bridge. 

For some their daily routine, 

for others an infrequent or unfamiliar journey. 

Most men are wearing hats, 

while some women carry umbrellas, 

protection from the scorching summer sun.


Mateo sits in the front seat of the car with his father 

as they near the checkpoint. 

They are talking about baseball and what it must be like to be the pitcher. 


When the car comes to a stop, 

Mateo watches his father gripping the steering wheel, 

looking straight ahead, stone-faced.


“I need to ask you the questions on this card,” 

the border agent says, holding the printed side upright

so Mateo’s father can see its official, government-orders look. 


Mateo notices at the top of the card 

in big letters, all capitalized, “MANIFEST.” 

Mateo is sure it’s an important word, 

and that he can spell it without looking if he needs to.


“And that’s your little boy?” the agent asks.  

Mateo doesn’t think he’s so little. 


He wonders if he should say

Yes, I am Mateo, I am eight, and today is my birthday. 


But his father responds quickly, affirmatively, 

giving Mateo’s name, and Mateo figures 

he should remain silent. 


Not long after they cross the bridge, 

Mateo’s father says in a relaxed voice, 

“Mijo, give me a hand when we get 

to your tía’s house.” He smiles 

as he tells Mateo “You’re old enough 

to help carry my tool bags.”


“Ok, Dad,” Mateo replies, with a smile 

that the family says is just like his father’s. 


One bag contains hammers, screwdrivers, and wrenches. 

Rags too, some clean, some oily, some with the smell of sweat.

The other bag is filled with what Mateo imagines 

are hundreds of nails, along with his father’s rosary 

for blessings and safety.


Once they park in his tía’s driveway, 

Mateo wastes no time. He reaches 

into the backseat of the car and grabs with both hands 

the strap of the bag with the nails and his father’s rosary. 

It is heavy, but Mateo is sure he won’t drop it. 


Elizabeth N. Flores, Professor Emeritus of Political Science, taught for over 40 years at Del Mar College and was the college’s first Mexican American Studies Program Coordinator. Her poems have appeared in the Texas Poetry Assignment, Corpus Christi Writers (2022 and 2023 editions) anthologies edited by William Mays, the Mays Publishing Literary Magazine, and the Windward Review.




Next
Next

Concertina Conundrum