#chicana - Hello Poetry

i am my grandmother’s small and plump tears when she thinks of her pueblo. i am my mother’s broken english as she greets the cashier. i am my sister’s abandoned dreams, her acceptance letter is etched into my palm. i am my brother’s path to citizenship along with all the photographic evidence. i am my brother in law’s laughter when he speaks to the nephew he has never met. i am the ever constant fear of being denied a home. i am the secrets carried on backs through miles and miles of desert. i am the pan dulce on sunday mornings. i am the mole and carnitas at birthday parties. i am the thick hair on arms. i am the first bite of a burger king hamburger after years of poverty. i am the first item of clothing bought at a kmart after years of patching up old clothes. so how dare you think less of me? you do not know what i carry. all this pain. all this joy. all this strength. i am chicana. the bridge between two worlds. i will not be burned down.

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Jan 10, 2018

Jan 10, 2018 at 4:22 PM UTC

aneterz

yo soy...

i am my grandmother’s small and plump tears when she thinks of her pueblo. i am my mother’s broken english as she greets the cashier. i am my sister’s abandoned dreams, her acceptance letter is etched into my palm. i am my brother’s path to citizenship along with all the photographic evidence. i am my brother in law’s laughter when he speaks to the nephew he has never met. i am the ever constant fear of being denied a home. i am the secrets carried on backs through miles and miles of desert. i am the pan dulce on sunday mornings. i am the mole and carnitas at birthday parties. i am the thick hair on arms. i am the first bite of a burger king hamburger after years of poverty. i am the first item of clothing bought at a kmart after years of patching up old clothes. so how dare you think less of me? you do not know what i carry. all this pain. all this joy. all this strength. i am chicana. the bridge between two worlds. i will not be burned down.

29

The rooster sings to the sun, answering the call is the light that embraces all. All at once the birds sing their own song. Awaken by mother's sweet voice. "It's time to go" she says. She hands me a green cubeta con maiz. The corn's color is purple and white instantly I fall in love with its kind The cold blue morning gives me chills. I carry the bucket to my grandmother's house. With her mandil and her braided hair, she sits by the comal making tortillas. "Good morning abueltia" with a smile on my face. "Good morning m'ija" she replies. I keep walking carrying the heavy bucket. A small room next to a store crowded with senoras. Their rebozos around their heads and arms and buckets in hand. I feel so small so young but inside I'm proud. I wait in line as I greet and make small talk. These ladies have the nicest smiles. My turn, I grab my cubeta and proceed to the molino. My arms are too little. A lady approaches and helps me load the molino. I watch in awe as the grains turn in masa. I bend down and collect it. "En una bolita" the lady tells me to shape it. I nod and continue to make it. Gray like the color of my grandma's hair. soft like my mother's hand. I fill the bucket with the masa. I thank las senoras and head back to mi casa. I hand the bucket to my mom who was milking la vaca. She starts the comal and gets the cal. Her hands slapping the masa like she was clapping. Perfect big round warm tortillas. I was a little girl that helped her make them. A little girl that still remembers.

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Apr 17, 2015

Apr 17, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC

anaid87

Tortilla Memories

The rooster sings to the sun, answering the call is the light that embraces all. All at once the birds sing their own song. Awaken by mother's sweet voice. "It's time to go" she says. She hands me a green cubeta con maiz. The corn's color is purple and white instantly I fall in love with its kind The cold blue morning gives me chills. I carry the bucket to my grandmother's house. With her mandil and her braided hair, she sits by the comal making tortillas. "Good morning abueltia" with a smile on my face. "Good morning m'ija" she replies. I keep walking carrying the heavy bucket. A small room next to a store crowded with senoras. Their rebozos around their heads and arms and buckets in hand. I feel so small so young but inside I'm proud. I wait in line as I greet and make small talk. These ladies have the nicest smiles. My turn, I grab my cubeta and proceed to the molino. My arms are too little. A lady approaches and helps me load the molino. I watch in awe as the grains turn in masa. I bend down and collect it. "En una bolita" the lady tells me to shape it. I nod and continue to make it. Gray like the color of my grandma's hair. soft like my mother's hand. I fill the bucket with the masa. I thank las senoras and head back to mi casa. I hand the bucket to my mom who was milking la vaca. She starts the comal and gets the cal. Her hands slapping the masa like she was clapping. Perfect big round warm tortillas. I was a little girl that helped her make them. A little girl that still remembers.

37

Permission to speak, I am the ally of the silenced and unheard. I am the noise you can't shake. Two sharp points like the accents I carry on my tongue. I slither and squirm as I observe what they have done to you. It's a tragedy what they think of you and how arrogantly they use you for self proclaimed prophecies. No! I am not that! I yell loudly, but only the echo replies. Incarceration, deportation, degradation, gentrification some of the words that burn as I spit them out. False ideologies are accepted as realities ignoring the facts. I am not illegal and you don't have the right to label or decide. I am not a criminal, never was. Don't obstruct my academic path, I will jump each and every obstacle one by one. I was born free, you labeled and shackled me with lies and hatred but I broke loose. With my forked tongue I battle your double sided knife. I am not content with the destructive pattern that has emerged with your avarice. I will not **** for you and I will not die in vain. My snake like tongue has no mercy and will not cease until I see dignity and peace obtained.

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Apr 9, 2015

Apr 9, 2015 at 6:40 AM UTC

anaid87

Snake Tongue

Permission to speak, I am the ally of the silenced and unheard. I am the noise you can't shake. Two sharp points like the accents I carry on my tongue. I slither and squirm as I observe what they have done to you. It's a tragedy what they think of you and how arrogantly they use you for self proclaimed prophecies. No! I am not that! I yell loudly, but only the echo replies. Incarceration, deportation, degradation, gentrification some of the words that burn as I spit them out. False ideologies are accepted as realities ignoring the facts. I am not illegal and you don't have the right to label or decide. I am not a criminal, never was. Don't obstruct my academic path, I will jump each and every obstacle one by one. I was born free, you labeled and shackled me with lies and hatred but I broke loose. With my forked tongue I battle your double sided knife. I am not content with the destructive pattern that has emerged with your avarice. I will not **** for you and I will not die in vain. My snake like tongue has no mercy and will not cease until I see dignity and peace obtained.

16

White smoke dancing in the air A pretty smile and the natural swaying of her hair. Dark lips and a laugh that echoes in her head. Thinking about what lies ahead Keeping a straight face is harder than it seems. For she has learned to fake the difference of a smile and a tear She can no longer make appear. Living in her one way mentality She resides next to fear and goes to sleep with reality. While having an affair with fantasia This goes on daily it's impossible to interfere But as dreams become sueños they turn into esperanza and that is all she needs to keep her fighting for la causa The session is over but she's learned a new lesson A reminder from her Spirits "Don't forget where you came from and what you came for. " Then she slowly disappears...

0

Apr 3, 2015

Apr 3, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC

anaid87

The Session

White smoke dancing in the air A pretty smile and the natural swaying of her hair. Dark lips and a laugh that echoes in her head. Thinking about what lies ahead Keeping a straight face is harder than it seems. For she has learned to fake the difference of a smile and a tear She can no longer make appear. Living in her one way mentality She resides next to fear and goes to sleep with reality. While having an affair with fantasia This goes on daily it's impossible to interfere But as dreams become sueños they turn into esperanza and that is all she needs to keep her fighting for la causa The session is over but she's learned a new lesson A reminder from her Spirits "Don't forget where you came from and what you came for. " Then she slowly disappears...

18