by Cristina Rodriguez Rivas
The Californian sun can be unrelenting and unforgiving,
so much so, that we have a desert called Death Valley.
But even in Death Valley, there are blooms.
Brilliant little explosions of purple, gold, and orange carpet the desert
floor
in a silent but beautiful rebellion.
They turn the valley of death into a living, breathing painting.
Like the flowers defy the desert,
I rebel silently.
My joy is light in a dark hour.
My success is the seed planted for the next generation.
Every breath I draw is an act of rebellion
against the stars and planets that did not want me to get this far.
In this unrelenting and unforgiving desert,
we must all blossom into rebellion.
