Laredo is known for its women
and its food.

The greatest parts of any culture, I’m told,
are what’s meant for others to consume.

Visitors tell me what Laredo needs
is more,

and I ask them how much more
do they need for us to give

in order for them to finally feel
satisfied?

Laredo is my mother in the way she always gives
of herself until she has just enough left

to feed her children who only know
how to ask for more.

We leave to forget, come back
to be remembered, in the way only she can

breathe life back into us when we no longer recognize
who we really are.

Laredo walks the trodden bridge between
us and them, but never too far in either direction,

existing in that liminal space of never truly being
enough.

Appreciated for what she does, what she gives, but never
seen for who she is

an act of service, humming a tune
of survival only she can hear,

and we rarely notice the way our bodies sway down her
streets, a rhythm only we can understand.

As a nearly lifelong Laredoan, I have witnessed firsthand the lack of appreciation our city gets from citizens and visitors alike. I wrote “ala madre” as a response to the common critique that Laredo has nothing to offer. I am hoping this poem will help people be more open minded to the unique culture of Laredo and become more appreciative of everything the city already is, without comparing it to other cities and constantly wishing it could be more or be different.