Noise
There are so many thoughts pushing and fighting to come out of my brain; but my throat tightens and sadness se derrama sobre todo mi ser. My heart aches for this reality.
I want to scream
Que mi grito
sea escuchado en todo el mundo.
Quiero gritar
until my voice is gone
and all this sadness
evacua mi cuerpo.
Sometimes, this tightness in my throat chokes me and no deep breathing la va a relajar; all it does is push la agonia further into my chest.
The other night, I couldn't sleep. I kept hearing this loud, buzzing, zooming sound around my bedroom window. My Dog, Chico Sancho, was alert. I don’t know if he was a alert because of my fear or because he was hearing something around the house. No dormí la mayoria de la noche. Most of the night was spent trying to hear every sound around my house.
I haven't felt like this desde cuando era una niña en El Salvador.
I remember being up a tree, aferrandome a las ramas, trying to disappear into the branches, so that the soldiers walking abajo no me vieran.
Esta noche en Minnesota felt like that.
I was trying to stay present. I did use the skills my therapist taught me to calm my nervous system. Grounding breath to stay present; all the things that I teach my clients. They worked por un rato. But they brought me a un presente embarrado de miedo.
My brain is trying to understand what I fear now.
I am a US citizen. Sin embargo, I fear. I'm a 60 year a woman and I fear that if they stop me, I won't be able to control my trauma response. More than likely, me congelaré como una estatua, y me harán daño… and nothing I say about my shoulder injury, or my knees surgery, or my wrist problems les va a importar. I have seen US citizens been dragged like farm animals, hog tied, and carried face down by their limbs. Me evaden las palabras to describe como se siente to be a witness a la deshumanización del prójimo.
I’m sitting in my porch, writing while listening to Rancheras cantadas por damas poderosas and I’m afraid. Every time a car drives by mi corazón para. Chico Sancho is a nervous wreck como un eco de mi miedo. Mi corazón salta, and he runs to the door barking, I get more anxious, he starts pacing. Esto no es natural. This is not how we should be living in this country; yet we are.
Mi gente publica fotos de sus queridos desaparecidos and it all feels familiar
I think of the mothers
who went down barrancos
looking for bodies
Y visitaban hospitales
Y cárceles
Y montes
en silencio
desafiando el miedo
Pero yo tengo voz
and there’s a choir of voices shouting,
whistling, honking, screaming.
So, this is different,
this is happening in the light of day.
In El Salvador, these things happened in silence. Everybody went about their lives, with her heads down eyes to the ground. There were no news reports, nadie con valor de llamar la atención, except for el poeta Jimmy – y le costo la vida.
As traumatic and as futile to the nervous system as it is to watch videos, I do.
Images recorded with shaking hands,
hearing their fearful breaths
deep and temblorosos
entre pitos
y gritos
and reports of the onslaught
saturando todos los medios.
There's a part of me
que se siente agradecida.
because it's being witnessed.
It is recorded.
Y es real and the world can see it.
Y aunque haya gente que lo niega
o culpa a las víctimas
Y traten de hipnotizarnos
Para que no veamos lo que vemos
Aunque los ciegos se ciegen mas
Because to open their eyes
To see the wrongness
The cruelty
Is terrifying
Y se afferan a sus cegez
Como yo me aferraba a aquella rama
Que este siendo presenciado
recording history
is small comfort to the dead
Y sus dañadas familias,
Y all the families torn apart,
and los niños traumatizados,
y the terrorized community
And I look into the eyes
de los que causan tanto daño
they cover their faces
but they need to see
y ven el daño
y el dolor
y la desesperación
Sometimes
Veo su propio dolor
verguenza
tristeza
y pena
I want to hate them
y a veces I do
Y my Heart aches por mi gente
Por mi ser del presente
La niña del entonces
La vieja del futuro
Y hasta por mi perro
alterado por mi miedo.