Migrant

It wasn't easy.

To bend
to the sun everyday,
burnt face
and chapped hands,
plucking tomatoes
from stubborn vines.

I envied the snakes,
green and lithe,
in the shade of
the plants,
in the cool of shadow.

The snakes everyday,
peacefully snuck by,
and never once stopped
to tell me 
why
I was here.

The snakes stayed
out of our beds,
but found homes in
our two pots
on the dirt floor
of a shack,
made for chickens.

I slept on the remnants
of wooden pallets
and feed sacks.
The wind rustled through
the gaps in the walls.

I heard the snakes breathing
and the stars
moving in the dark fabric
of the night.

Gardner snakes,
the only ones I dared
to hope for
in this life,
if I could not run 
free across the earth
or sleep in a safe place,
I prayed the snake
may have such luxuries.