THE ONES THAT LIVE ON
I come from a long line of Mexican women
who washed their clothes on wash boards in a bucket
who worked in the fields
who worked as maids in wealthy households
who made tortillas at dawn
and boiled beans at dusk
fed the chickens in their back yards
watered their lush green plants
disciplined their children
and rarely questioned their husbands.
These women fought to survive
swallowed their tears
Hid their fears
my foremothers never gave up
even when times were difficult they took
hardship with dignity.
My great grandmother and grandmothers
were women who went to church
and prayed
had faith
and believed in God
they were excellent mothers and wives,
the cornerstones of the family.
My mother was strong
when her husband cheated on her
beat her
verbally abused her
then left her with two children
standing by his closed casket.
My aunt was wild
adventurous, hilarious
fun loving
and abandoned by her only love
with a child to care for all alone.
These women were survivors
whose blood runs through my veins.
Yes,
I come from a long line of women
tough as nails
hard as steal
soft like velvet
exquisite
sweet like pan dulce
full of wisdom
stories,
secrets that will never be told.
They are my past
They are my present
They are my future.
They live in my heart
These women with lyrical voices,
They are what bring me to keep walking
When all I want to do is go into a deep dark sleep
and never wake up,
They keep me alive when
I feel too weary to go on.
They are the force
that reach out to touch my soul,
They are the hands that lift me up when I have failed,
They bathe me when I am covered in mud.
They are my foremothers,
They are the past,
They are the present,
They are the future,
They are the ones that live on.
que lavaban sus ropas con tablas de lavar en un barreño
que trabajaban en el campo
que trabajaban como criadas en casa ricas
que hacían tortillas al amanecer
y hervían frijoles al anochecer
alimentaban los pollos en sus patios traseros
regaban sus exuberantes plantas verdes
castigaban a sus hijos
y rara vez cuestionaban a sus maridos.
Estas mujeres luchaban por sobrevivir
se tragaban sus lágrimas
ocultaban sus miedos
mis antepasadas nunca se rindieron
incluso en los momentos duros asumieron
la dificultad con dignidad.
Mi bisabuela y abuelas
eran mujeres que iban a la iglesia
y rezaban
tenían fe
y creían en Dios
fueron excelentes madres y esposas,
las piedras angulares de la familia.
Mi madre era fuerte
cuando su marido la engañaba
la golpeaba
abusaba verbalmente de ella
para luego dejarla con dos hijos
plantada junto a su ataúd cerrado.
Mi tía era salvaje
aventurera, divertidísima
marchosa
y abandonada por su único amor
con un niño a quien cuidar en soledad.
Estas mujeres sobrevivientes
cuya sangre corre por mis venas.
Sí,
procedo de una larga lista de mujeres
duras como las uñas
duras como el acero
suaves como el terciopelo
exquisitas
dulces como panes de leche
llenas de sabiduría
historias,
secretos que nunca serán contados.
Ellas son mi pasado
Ellas son mi presente
Ellas son mi futuro.
Viven en mi corazón
Mujeres de voces líricas,
Ellas son las que me animan a seguir caminando
Cuando lo único que deseo es caer en un profundo sueño oscuro
y nunca despertar,
Me mantienen con vida cuando
Me siento demasiado cansada para seguir viviendo.
Ellas son la fuerza
que extienden su mano para tocar mi alma
Son las manos que me levantan cuando fallo,
Me bañan cuando me cubre el barro.
Ellas son mis antepasadas,
Ellas son el pasado,
Ellas son el presente,
Ellas son el futuro,
Ellas son las que perduran.
(Traducción de Rocío Nogales [@gefiri])