Waking up from a dream, bed in a room off Rundberg street.
Fan swirling, twirling around the Texas heat.
Jump in the shower, forced to decide between:
Iceberg cold or Scouldering hot. No balance for cleansing my skin.
Splashes on my back. Feeling the grime,
Mixed with the particles that ooze through the factory plants,
Sliding down my back. Patting down the excess waste,
Reminded of the clean rio banks at the edge of our pueblito, where we bathed as babes.
Sliding into the processed fabrics that clothe this fat, disabled, two-spirit body.
Scratchy materials, rubbing at my soul.
Longing for the smooth, natural textiles hand made by the cochis.
Metal key in one hand, pulling at the rusted doorknob with the other.
Checking the clash of processed minerals, keeping the pollution out.
Deep breath of air. Hm. Ah. Fresh? Mmm. *Teeth suck*
Not like it was on indigenous land, pure skies.
Where we ran through the untainted breeze, soft green grass beneath our feet.
Now walking to the bus stop, feet slapping across the paved sidewalk.
Cane clicking along beside me. Passing through the barrio,
Norte~Nas blaring, Reggeaton bumping.
Waiting for my mechanic horse, 3 dragons stop and go.
Leaving behind their puff of smoke, slowly seeping into the atmosphere.
Holding my breath, Taking in the poison if I don’t.
But how long before I pass out?
Finally my chariot arrives, taking me cross county, away from mi gente.
Into a land where they may look like me, but don’t sound like me.
I make it to the market without being ogled, harassed, or unconsentedly touched.
Slinking through those Central Market doors, gliding through the aisles.
Hoping not to be discovered. Imposter shopping with the rich,
Because my barrio mercado doesn’t have the produce I need.
Make my way to the register. Plastic swiping away.
Heart sinks at the numbers on the screen.
Bank weeps, not understanding how half a basket could steal so much.
My journey back, I keep these brown eyes pried open.
Heavy from the Texas sun, overheating this broken body I call home.
Global warming saliently dripping down my back.
The Rundberg dragon arrives. Another puff of toxicity.
Hopping on, it lurches forward.
Runner zooms by, dog leash in hand.
How they remind me of Chango and Puma.
How I miss them, but city folks wouldn’t allow their presence.
Also knowing they couldn’t flourish in this climate.
How they wouldn’t survive being caged, with rotting in the air.
Making it home, I settle in.
Too exhausted to jump in the kitchen, I order take-out.
I flip on my TV, before putting my curls to bed.
Jumping back into my dreams,
To walk in worlds from past living. Simpler times. Humbler places.
Away from the waking nightmares I now call home.
- Sueitko Zamorano-Chavez
Comments
Post a Comment