I see myself at the edge of the world
Once not long ago, I was afraid I would fall off the world
Now I see myself between two echoing worlds
There was the fluid world before I was born
And then there is the world I breathe in now
Somewhere in between, there was a rupture
A seemingly endless channel with no way out
How can I sew these worlds together?
The one before, the one after?
I see myself desperately holding two worlds together
My mother's world and my father's world
All men were relegated to the shadows
Just as my father was
Just as my maternal grandfather was
Just as my mother's mother's father was
Grandmother Alda refused to go to her father's funeral
Her mother, my great grandmother had died young
Her stepmother was a direct accomplice in her terror
so I was told
I see myself looking into the shadows
into the other side of the world
where my father kept his unspeakable secrets
which were his heart
the heart of the story of who he was
where his brother was
where his sister was
where his parents were
(and probably why I am in exile on the other side of the border)
When I was in grade school,
I had a dream of being abducted in a white car
being unable to scream for help
my throat wouldn't open
(I could only helplessly watch myself
the window stubbornly in a closed position
even if I could call out no one would hear)
Now I am having dreams of being a fugitive
where I, or my double, flee from heavily armed authorities
or where my real identity and sympathies must be kept secret
My mother belonged to the night
My father to the day
Yet men, my father, my mother's father, belonged to the shadows
I am fascinated by the night
To walk under the moon and the milky way
Though I endeavor to sleep early
Not to burn the candle at both ends
But I am fascinated by the flame
that illuminates the dark
I see myself as a child of two worlds
the Spanish speaking world of Mexico
where I learned to make tortillas by hand
my muscles remember precisely the flick of the wrist
the roll of the palms
and the slapping clapping to and fro
over and under alternating hands
sensing the precise thickness between each palm
And the other world, el otro lado
the place where the roads were smooth
where everyone, almost, speaks English
There was a rupture between these worlds when I was five
I never knew precisely where I stood
on that side of the border that I was continually leaving
almost from the time I was born
where they spoke English
where the children, mostly, never spoke Spanish
I see myself trying to mend the rupture
though a scar or seam is a very thin place to hold on to
Nowadays, most young girls don't know how tortear
how to form the masa between their hands
I see myself holding two worlds together
before and now
with almost no one in the world
who was witness
it's been years now
since the beloveds have begun their travels to the other side
I see myself holding and trying to mend two worlds
life and death
I see myself suspended by the seam between two worlds
present and future
this side of the border and that
meanwhile, I have turned inward
As there was an entrance
there is also an exit
I don't know when
but I know it is closer
someday I will walk out
perhaps the same red door I entered
near the shore where the ocean's waves lap the earth
—Lorena
