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knottedskein · 6 months

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(This is a letter written to my baby nephew one year after his birth.)

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Querido sobrino,

Do you remember when you were a little bean? You probably don't, but your mamis do! You were a little baby bean in Mommy's belly. Mommy and Mami were so excited and they held onto you like their dearest little secret with all ten of their fingers and smiled because they knew they would soon have someone new to love.

I remember the first day when your mamis told me that I would be a tía and that a little baby bean was growing. Soon, we all knew, because this little baby bean was starting to grow ten little fingers and ten little toes. So your mamis shared their little secret with the whole wide world! And the whole wide world knew that a little baby bean would sprout into a little baby boy and be welcomed into the whole wide world with so much love and joy from his mamis, abuelitos, tías, and tíos. And they all smiled because they knew how much they are going to love you.

I remember the day when you, my little nephew bean, sprouted. I couldn't wait to meet you! Your mamis told me all about your ten perfect tiny fingers and ten perfect tiny toes. They told me how you were already smiling, because you knew how much you are loved.

I remember the first day I met you, little sprout. You were just as perfect as your mamis told me you would be. Ten perfect tiny fingers and ten perfect tiny toes. You always had a smile on your face because you knew you are loved.

I sang you lullabies about blackbirds and walruses. Sweet whispered songs about yellow submarines and octopus gardens. I carried you around the colorful dreams of creators and imaginators. We baked elaborate patty cakes with all ten of our fingers. Then we pondered about little diamonds in the sky. And I smiled at you because I knew I loved and will always love you.

Happy birthday, little sprout. Your tía Bibi loves you very much.

#proudtia #welcomebaby #favoritequeertia #babypoem #i love my nephew #amo mi sobrino #sweet baby boy #latinx #queer #queer tia #seriously my nephew is the cutest #poetry #poem #two proud mommas #mommy and mami

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knottedskein · 6 months

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El Paso.

My parents lovingly doted on me in Spanish. I unknowingly babbled nonsense aligned to no particular world. My boundless coos came from the safety of my nest. Maybe it was too soon to tell which way I would sway. I was just a baby. Una bebesita. Were my cries in English? ¿Soñaba en español? Did I want to play with a ball or ¿jugar con una pelota? Was my favorite color rosa mexicano or did I ask to surround myself with Barbie pink? Did I go by Débbie or Debbie? Did mami and papi anticipate that I would lose my way? And did they know I would find my own path?

Miami.

Here la historia begins. My thoughts became tangible and solidified. My sentences brincando between dos mundos. I want leche. I want a muñeca. ¡Quiero candy! Dos padres very confundidos by my melange of Spanglish. They tried to make sentido of my words. There was no order to a lenguaje unconstrained by reglas. Mama y papa tried to teach me how to contar. So I counted to mis papas: one, dos, three, four, cinco, seis, seven.....

San Antonio.

¡En esta casa hablamos español! I learned to navigate the awkward Spanish words with the twist of my rigid tongue. Mi pobre boca felt thick with palabras and ideas that had no release. My fragmented Spanish no longer glittered the floor in broken shards. Instead, it was precariously pieced together—held tightly with anglicized thoughts. I tried to make the palabras come out, but it only chipped away at something that was already broken. My parents would come to lament the choice I had made. In this house, I spoke English.

Puebla.

Mi vocabulario se alimento con cultura. Estuve intoxicada con los colores y sonidos. Mis palabras se volvieron miel. Sacarina. Dorada y viscosa. Vivía en un paraíso mexicano mientras conservé mi inglés con solo mis pensamientos. La miel atrapó mis pensamientos como ámbar y preservó mi ingenuidad. Mi inglés se mantuvo inmaculado con mi juventud. Mientras, mi español pudo madurar y explorar este nuevo terreno. Pero este néctar empalagoso no logró saciar las gargantas de los demás. Les ofrecí miel, cuando nada más quisieron la pureza del agua. I wanted nothing more than to offer the very nectar that had sanded the callouses off my tongue. Yet, their fangs drained the sweetness from my fragile veins. Their forked tongues stabbed sibilant snarls into my sensitive ears. Their talons tore at my paper-thin skin while I stretched my arms out in surrender. I begged for mercy, but I was met with their vitriol. Their venom spat across my face and the acid was left to blister my delicate flesh. My Spanish offended them. So, they left me branded with gleaming rosa scars. La gringa.

Farmington.

Chillicothe.

Selma.

I clenched my hands around mis palabras like the flawless diamantes I chiseled from mi tierra sagrada. No puedo dejar que escuchen mi español. They wouldn’t hear my Spanish. Pero los diamantes dug their resentment into my flesh with their sharp points. I held a precious hidden treasure in my palms that I feared would be ripped from my clutches by overzealous thieves. I wanted nothing more than to wash off the sangre that dripped from my pierced fingers. I wanted to thrash and scream— ¡Mira! ¡Mira como brillan! ¡Mira que preciosos y radiantes son! But when I finally spread my fingers out wide for the world to see, they only saw the blackest coal glistening with the redness of my fear. They snatched black diamonds and set my mundo ablaze. From the glowing embers, they branded my skin anew. The wetback.

San Antonio. Again.

Again. There were others like me, but were they like me? Were the manuals to their lives written in English or ¿escrito en español? Do they prefer flour tortillas or ¿prefieren tortillas de maiz? Did they have to climb up to the stage and prove to the world, that like, ¡No, en serio! ¡Te lo juro! Soy Mexicana! ¿O les arrancaban el micrófono de las manos a pesar de gritar, “No, I swear! I’m American!”? I was no longer alone. We were alone together. Our existence and identities became a performance; a dance for no one that particularly cared. "Watch the amazing acrobatics! See how we jump between two worlds!" Uno que nos rechazó por haber nacido en el mundo equivocado and one that unwelcomed us for being born with a different language caged behind our teeth. They tried to mark us out in the open, but our skins held no more room for new scars. Instead, they abandon like the waste they deemed us. We were left ignored and unworthy of recognition. We became expendable. Unseemly. Incongruous. Nothing. Nada.

Here and now.

My skin is no longer tattooed with scars with which I was branded. It has thickened and matured. It’s the leather of an ancient tome that was bestowed secret knowledge of two powerful realms. It’s the bark of a wizened gnarled oak that straddles the old and new worlds. I am steady in my journey and I am sure of my path. Tengo mi voz y mis susurros will tear down brick walls erected by the deplorable. Tengo mi voz y mis gritos will demand for all dreamers to have their dreams realized. Tengo mi voz y anunciaré al mundo que I know who I am and am not. I am too white. I am not dark enough. I am not white enough. Soy descolorida. I am nothing. Soy nada. I am a wetback. Soy una gringa. I am something. Soy todo. I am the longing for Spanish to kiss me with their honeyed lips. Soy la boca que fue moldeada con la fuerza y dureza de inglés. I am Latinx y soy latine. I am mexicana. Soy American. I am both. Soy dos almas encerradas en un cuerpo. I am the amalgamation of the ancient and modern. Soy las tradiciones pasadas por mis papás and I am the resister of their outdated ways. Soy Mexican-American. I am mexicana-americana. I’m me. Soy yo. Me.

#mexican american #bicultural #my poetry #free verse #poetry #latinx #latinesource #latina #mexicana #americana #chicana #neurodivergent #audhd #autism #actually adhd #adhd

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