The Celery Fields

(One of my rare attempts at macaronic writing--the reasons for it may be found in the context of the poem. Only a smattering of knowledge of Spanish is needed) Madre de Dios! Morning already? The mud, still damp upon my pantalones-- how can I face another day? My niña is so thin. Two little oranges are not enough for her, before she rides the bus to the escuela. I must work harder, still-- hacer algunos dollars more hacer su vida para el mejor, si puedo. I remember when like my niña, I was young.. We did not work so hard, y sobre las alturas every breeze was cool... not like this steaming California campo by the sea. I remember, as we worked, how we were singing, 'De la sierra morena, Cieli...' Now there is no heart, no time to sing. El jefe blanco will be angry if I make him late. The sun is high upon this field. My back hurts me so much from bending. Ay! En muchas horas I can sleep again and stop remembering. Jesús amado, en mi sueño solamente, take me home ............... to my brown mountain. ~