It’s like the new social acceptance for words to seep into the ears
And whisper of years of inequality.
Diabolically dismantling the phantom of the underdog, the latest blog
Delivering expression quite deliberately in dos idiomas,
Mixed tongue, double languages derived from broken-down carriages
Arrived by way of the very same expressway of identity
Uniqueness graded blatantly based on itemized ethnicity….
But I shouldn’t say that because I’m just an uncultured Gringa.
Believing that I’m not really oblivious to the many flavors of the world
Just because my skin is sun painted and I was born a Minnesota Girl.
I carry with me no familial recipes, no ancient traditional family remedies passed down from generation to generation: like they say: de mi abuela a mi madre y entonces a mi….
No family stories, about coming to the promised land, the struggle of an immigrant man
Carrying with him nothing more than conviction…
And I have stiff, rigid hips, two left feet, I never got the privilege to grow up underneath the rhythms of hot mambo beats.
Salsa was a sauce for dipping those generic nachos I knew no better than to eat.
And I never got to buy fruitas on the corner of my street.
I sound a little funny to some and more coherent to others.
I can’t divide my fun by interchanging stories to 16 brothers.
I never even fathomed attending a family reunion, because my union
Is between my mother and sister and me, with no other pertinent branches on
Our European genetic hybrid of a family tree.
Apparently an ax was taken to hack the importance of back dated blood lines and ancestral lineage.
Something like a lost pilgrimage.
But rest assured, I am a descendent of predecessors
That arrived by way of boat too.
It just doesn’t define me….
I don’t feel the insatiable need to gloat about war stories I never participated in.
Or cling to the basis of deliverance of happenstances that have literally nothing to do with the path I walk.
Home is a functional structure I find comfort in,
And heart is inside of my essence working diligently to pump life into my free body!
Culture is a category of anthropology I’ve read and respect, but there is nothing I can reiterate that fortifies my force of mind.
So I can’t tell you about the climbing sensation of
Small islands banging out wild rises of overpopulation.
Relativity to third world nations
Or having a cousin in every neighborhood for the next seventeen cities…
But I can shed light on innovative thinking, paint picturesque images of what my eyes see.
What my mind reflects and refinishes.
And it pertains to nothing that I need to cling to, relate to, revolve back to.
Nothing I need to resurrect in order to maintain a conversation or find a middle ground to connect with.
I have other things to say.
And I believe there are so many other things to write about.
Unattached to the past, I can speak of the present, the future, the ever changing world.
And instead of the top flight of siting every relative mannerism of a collective culture composed in dos idiomas,
I’ll stick to -my- language and give it a whirl.
I can show you who I am,
something more than just a sun painted, intellectual Minnesota girl.
2 Comments for this entry
JacobJune 12th, 2011 on 5:51 pm
I like this verymuch