by corv
bring big bags of masa to your abuelita’s house. help her cook. help her walk. help her clean. hold space for her concerns. let her tell you an old story- one you’ve heard a million times. let her teach you of the bombshells and the scrapple embedded in your veins. thank god she managed eighty.
go to the corner store to buy a case of ginger ale. pretend you don’t see the van parked in front. pretend you don’t hear him following you. pretend you weren’t expecting it. keep your head down. say yes, officer and thank you, officer. don’t tell him where you’re from. don’t tell him you were born here. don’t protest. it doesn’t matter.
call your dad on the jailhouse phone and ask him to pick you up. say papi, i’m scared. say i didn’t do anything wrong. glance up at the guards faces again. pretend you don’t understand the way they look at you. pretend you don’t hold the guilt of generations.
teach your little nieces and nephews how to make pupusas. teach them how to say love. teach them how to say happy. teach them how to say family. you need not teach them how to be brave- this is something you all know from the moment you are born. it is in your bones, your dna, your lineage.
be careful where you go. always text someone before you leave the house. carry at least two forms of identification on you at all times. do not carry anything that can be used as a weapon. make yourself seem harmless. smile more. pretend you don’t understand them. they like that, you know. to be in control. they like when you’re naive.
testify in front of a court of law for your eighty-five year old grandfather. show them he is innocent. show them he is allowed to be here. show them your history. show them your fists. your fangs. fight for your family.
spend saturday evenings at big family parties with loud music and packed kitchens. here, in the middle of the chaos- you learn what it means. in between bites of pupusas and casamiento, you come to understand the meaning of the word. immigrant. a beautiful blessing of love. forget what other people think of you. this is all that matters.
pupusas at home. Photo credit: corv.
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This is an original poem, brought to you by Poet Tree Town, a Washtenaw-based poetry-in-public initiative and celebration of local poets. Find out more about Poet Tree Town on Instagram and Facebook, or say hello at [email protected].
