Tawny Moor


Daniella Alamillo, Guest Writer


It was my little brother Jimenez’s 13th birthday. People were chugging Buchanan’s and singing along to Chalino Sanchez. The chamacos were jumping around playing tag and trying to make the jumper go upside down. Me and all the older cousins kept sneaking Modelos into my room, hoping no one would catch us. These moments right here are the ones you must cherish. Earlier that day my pops called us from prison to wish Jimenez a happy birthday. “Woowww 13 huh? You’re getting so big…you’re pretty much ready to go to college” he said apprehensively.  “How’s your mom doing? Do you know if she has the money to bail me yet?” 

“She said that she should be able to have it in a couple of months,” I responded.

“C’mon Rosalia I need the money now!!”

 “I know, Dad, I know. Mom has been pulling night shifts for four days a week now. You’ll get your money.” Pops was sentenced to 35 years in prison for a crime that he didn’t commit. They said that he was guilty of manslaughter, but they never had any physical evidence. The only way that they know is by the color of your skin. If you’re black or brown, then you’re automatically the criminal. If you’re white, then you’re forever innocent. Which is why I despise white people with a BURNING f****** passion. Every single one of them. They have all of this privilege that they never acknowledge and it always pisses me off.

My abuela lives here too. Every time I see my nana, she is always asking me when I’m ever gonna get a boyfriend and how she’s still waiting for her great-grandkids. My tata was like a second father to me. We would always go into the fields to pick oranges, strawberries, and apricots. Or when I was younger, he would take me and my cousins fishing. I miss him so much sometimes. Before he died he gave me his gold rosary and his overalls that he used to use when he would fix and paint old, beat up cars as a way for me to feel safe. So anytime when I’m by myself and I want someone to talk to, I just talk with him. 


I hear everyone talking about something like a couple of cops in a white and green truck pulling up to our front porch. So I leave the room to see what’s up. At first I thought that our wack a** neighbors were calling the cops for a noise complaint again. But one of my tias heard a loud banging on the door. “Where can I find Rosalia and Jimenez Delgado?” I would have never thought that it was ICE. Everybody stays quiet in absolute fear, and all you could hear is people nervously breathing and Vincente Fernandez talking about his past loves. My mom slowly steps up toward them, “I-I’m their mother,” she says shakily. 

With every bone shaking in our body. Palms  creating lakes of sweat. I feel like my face is gonna turn into an arándano, because I kept forgetting to take breaths. One of the guys faced my mom. The fear in her eyes is like something that I ain’t never seen before. “Miss Delgado, your children are coming with me.”

Oceans and oceans of tears are coming down everyone’s faces. I tried to find my mom, and I could only hear her screaming in pain saying, “no dejes que se lleven a mis bebés”.  Jimenez, Marcela, and I run towards mom and give her the biggest hug. 

“Don’t let them take us,” I tell Marcela as she hugs me and kisses my head for comfort. 


The officer gets between my family and I, making us separate from each other. Jimenez and I are being dragged out of the back of the porch. I put my arms out trying to reach for my mom’s and Marcela’s hand. So that I could feel their touch just






The officers grab both my arms and aggressively put them behind my back in an attempt to keep me restrained. I immediately try to find my little brother. I can’t find him anywhere. 

“Where’s my brother?” 

Nobody answers me. Like if I am already some kind of ghost. But then I hear a voice nearby. “Rosalia!!” I immediately turn around and see Jimenez being stuffed in a trunk with other kids of his age. 

I try to struggle out of the position that the officers put me in,  try to run towards him and give him a gigantic hug. But they caught me again. And made my arms tighter and tighter the more that I struggled. Tears run down all the way to my neck. The officers then put me in the truck. I am with only people  probably my mom’s age. My hands are put behind my back, so I try to wipe off most tears with my shoulders. The fact that the officers that put my arms behind my back were both Latino…it is devastating. Mi propia sangre, separating families who are just trying to live a better life. I am still crying when I am put in the trunk. The roads are bumpy and I am starting to get a little carsick. A middle aged lady looks at me and tells me, “no llores pequeña, diosito nos esta protegiendo” and I instantly think of my tata. He would always say that to me if I ever felt in distress. It would always make me feel better. And if that didn’t help, then he would take me to a taco truck near a road. We would always share an horchata. The truck finally stops.


I hear the officers getting out of the truck, heading towards the back to open up the trunk. I start to get anxious again. The same lady who tried to comfort me earlier tried to comfort me again. “No te preocupes pequeña, todo estará bien,” she said in a calm, motherly tone. I can feel my entire body pulsating, leaving me in a shock of trepidation. They take us out of the trunk and put us in handcuffs and shackles. The beaming hot copper sun hits against my brown, Aztec flesh. My chestnut brown curls are covering my face, making it more difficult to breathe. They start leading us to the detention center.

There is barely enough space for me to fully think. The officers lead us to a little building where we are supposed to change into these ugly ass orange jumpsuits. I feel so confused and vulnerable at the same time. Why are the officers carrying batons and tasers as if we have the energy to attack them at any moment?

When I put on the jumpsuit it immediately reeks of an old, sweaty man. 

“C’mon ladies we don’t have all f****** day!”  the officer hollers. The officers all start to bang their batons against the white brick walls to make the females pick up the pace. I just think that the thought of some random men not only watching some women in a vulnerable state changing, raping them AND their children, giving unconsented hysterectomies on migrant women, more than 25 people have died under their custody and there’s 1224 records of these p***** cerdos using sexual assault as a “defense mechanism.” ICE has lost 1,475 children and all of these rates are increasing day by day. 

Estos cabrones merecen morir. I hope they get the worst type of discipline possible.