At the edge / Between two worlds

 

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