Negro Azulado
BIO
Gretel H. Vera-Rosas is an immigrant from Mexico City. She is a mother-scholar, writer and educator. Vera-Rosas is an Assistant Professor in the Sociology Department at California State University, Dominguez Hills. Her work is published in The Chicana Motherwork Anthology, as well as in scholarly journals such as Feminist Formations, e-misférica, and Chiricú Journal: Latina/o Literatures, Arts, and Cultures.
Por
alguna razón sé que estamos en el circo
(aun
cuando en el marco de la foto no hay nada que me lo indique)
Nuestro
cabello es de la misma materia:
grueso,
pesado, negro azulado
Parece
que tú y ella observan lo mismo
(quizá
un truco de magia, algún acto circense que no los divierte)
Me
estoy metiendo un dulce en la boca
Me
tienes abrazada
y
aunque los tres estamos juntos
sé
que solo están ahí por mí.
Yo,
estoy viendo de frente
observando
al fotógrafo que ustedes dos ignoran
Me
gusta la expresión de mi cara
mis
ojos no parecen darse cuenta que nuestro tiempo juntos
se ha terminado
this gift these cacti
when
i was pregnant the owner of a nursery gifted me a small cactus
the
old woman paced around, took her time looking at the cacti until
she
found one that “looked like a boy”
because she said i was going to have a boy
and i did
she
gifted me a small rainbow cactus
(which
does not tire of blooming fuchsia flowers)
when
i went home i planted it next to a miniature prickly pear
that
i bought when my sister found out she was pregnant
i named these cacti
ayelén and raymi like my niece and son
i keep them at the entrance of my place
Together
if i pay attention,
this gift
these cacti
murmur to me that
i must
return to myself
i must
remember
the way i watched my grandmother watered her plants, how she grew them
in buckets
and tin cans
i must
hear her waking me up every morning
calling me to rise:
Levantate
ya es otro día…