Midnight Grape Blues

by Diego X. Cortez

Across the valley, the grassy hills were green.
Those golden-grassed valley hills never once turned green.
Except the grape vines—colored by workers’ bleed.

Abuelito went across the border for this.
Abuelita went across the border for this.
My pregnant grandma journeyed so we could exist.

With Parkinson’s hands, that those thirty years gave him,
That old chemical shake he still carried with him,
With old eyes at yonder, he warned me—voice grim:

“Este trabajo es muy duro”, se dijo.
“Este trabajo es muy duro”, se dijo.
“Por favor, trabaja en un banco, mijo.”

They ask why I ain’t drink Napa wine–it’s good booze,
I look and tell them I got the midnight grape blues.

Diego X. Cortez is a Psychology & English: Creative Writing double major at Lawrence University. His work often takes a narrative focus and is best known for its raw honesty.