Immigrant, but I Love This Land More Than You

We live in a lovely part of the world,

where there are sprawling orchards,

citrus and avocado,

sun sets behind the hills,

turning the sky tangerine.

Mustard paints the hills yellow,

as spring comes,

swallows fly in, from far away,

to raise chicks under California sun.

We gather lemons,

have fun with acorns,

blow dandelions,

life is beautiful in chaparral,

among Matilija poppy and turkey vulture,

toyon and roadrunner.

I may be an immigrant,

but I have a deep connection

with this land,

I see myself as its steward.

I love it more than you,

writing on its glory and its issues,

for fifteen years.

Do not doubt my loyalty to this place,

just because I was not born here.

Birth does not determine

the love and respect.

Conscience and integrity do.