Sleeping was not an option;
Cold, dark, and quiet.
Would I see my mother again?
How about my grandparents?
Am I to be lost here forever
Like all these other children.
Chasing an unknown dream,
The officers took me away;
For I didn’t know her full name
Nor her age or birthday
I was only six
I didn’t know how to read.
How would I know this?
You tell me.
For hours I laid in the floor
Waiting to be transferred.
Smelly, crowded, humid, and
Only one toilet seat for all.
I was taken away.
The fence was big,
Kids everywhere, their eyes
Filled with lost hope.
Detained, separated.
For how long?
They too had forgotten.
Am I to become them?
For they were once me.
By Mayra A. Varillas Cilia
Mayra A. Varillas Cilia is an undocumented immigrant from an indigenous village in the Mixteca Poblana in Mexico. In 2020, she got a double major in applied mathematics and statistics from UCLA. Currently she is getting her masters in statistics at UCI.