Alas, during my time in Phoenix last week, I heard the horses down by the Salt River, but as I hiked down the rocky incline,  I could hear the hooves as they scattered.  I spent an hour at the bend in the river, watching the early morning light change and dissipate my cold breath in the air.

When I was a girl, my dad always tried to teach me about cars.  He pointed to what this thing was and he explained how it worked.   And I remember none of what he tried to teach me.  I remember looking at his tan, scarred hands, that grime under the nails that would never come out.  I can close my eyes and smell the mix of diesel fuel and cigarette smoke. That was the smell of my dad after a long honest day's work in the shop.  The literal blue collar with his name stitched across his chest.

I came to this country as a 5-year-old little girl with just my small suitcase...