Every autumn, monarch butterflies migrate from the central U.S.
\nTo the mountains in Michoac\u00e1n. In March, their return North<\/p>\n
Begins near the town where my father was born Along this route the monarchs rest on oak and pine, While moving North, the monarchs lay their eggs.<\/p>\n The eggs hatch and they will, perhaps without realizing, \/\/<\/p>\n No matter how long my parents have lived in the United States And I\u2019m certain Americans don\u2019t think of them that way either.<\/p>\n Americans look at my face and think Mexican<\/em>\u2014<\/p>\n I don\u2019t think of myself as completely American and yet\u2014 See that branch full of monarchs\u2014That fluttering flock of orange\u2014<\/p>\n Tell me\u2014<\/p>\n ffffffffffffffff<\/span>Are they American-born or Mexican?<\/p>\n \/\/<\/p>\n The monarchs\u2019 movement yields to no country\u2014<\/p>\n Only to rest, milkweed, and a kind climate.<\/p>\n Michoac\u00e1n has a sanctuary for the butterflies, \u2014People from over the world come to witness this wonder.<\/p>\n Science still can\u2019t agree on how the migration happens, An inherited map passed down \/\/<\/p>\n Both my parents, like many other folks, say that someday With each passing year I find this less likely, bound When was the last time you went to M\u00e9xico? <\/em>my parents ask.<\/p>\n It\u2019s been years, <\/em>I say.<\/p>\n For me, those older homes hold little to return to\u2014 You probably won\u2019t ever go back by yourself, huh? <\/em>they ask.<\/p>\n \/\/<\/p>\n Perhaps one day I will go back To witness a sliver of that long journey,<\/p>\n Knowing the butterflies that return to this mountain But the ones yet to be born.<\/p>\n Perhaps what I\u2019m returning to isn\u2019t a place, Perhaps I have always carried
\nffffffff<\/span>And ends in the country I was birthed.<\/p>\n
\nBut no individual butterfly ever completes the round trip.<\/p>\n
\nFinish a journey started by the generation before them.<\/p>\n
\nThey never think of themselves as Americans.<\/p>\n
\nAll the Mexicanos would call me Americano.<\/p>\n
\nWhere in February entire trees are covered in orange wings.<\/p>\n
\nBut some speculate it\u2019s genetic memory\u2014<\/p>\n
\nFrom previous generations to find their way back.<\/p>\n
\nThey\u2019ll return to their hometowns in M\u00e9xico to stay.<\/p>\n
\nAs they are to us children and the life they\u2019ve made here.<\/p>\n
\nBoth sets of grandparents gone\u2014
\nFamily members and a country that are distant to me.<\/p>\n
\nIf only to meet the migration of the monarchs for the first time.<\/p>\n
\nNext year won\u2019t be the ones I\u2019m looking at now\u2014<\/p>\n
\nBut a song passed down and buried within me.<\/p>\n
\nThe words, the melody, the memory\u2014<\/p>\n