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Maria Marisol: [reading Jose Cardenas's paper] We fly like blackbirds through the orange groves, floating on a warm wind. When we run, we own the earth. The land is ours. We speak the birds' language. Not immigrant no more. No stupid Mexicans. When we run, our spirits fly. We speak to the gods. When we run, we are the gods.
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Maria Marisol: Welcome to McFarland, Blanco.
Ricky Flowers Jr.
Extended Reading
