I
No time to talk.
No time for explanations.
No time for recriminations.
I've been here too long.
I've to get out of here.
II
This trip up north was my dead mom's dream
which I now realize I could never fulfill:
I won't pay the price to belong
and always be less and always strive
to be someone or become something
I cannot be,
and now more importantly
I refuse to become.
III
I can't forget my country,
my language, my culture
my family and my friends.
I can't forget who I am
Maybe I was too old when I've got here
Maybe I could tell the difference
between the propaganda I hear everyday
on CNN, CBS and the Seattle Times
and that which history books left outside:
the terror of Jim Crow,
Japanese internment/concentration camps and
the genocide of Native Americans' reservations.
IV
I proudly carry an accent
that identifies a language with which
I say essential things like
“te quiero” when we embrace
or “gracias” when you respond
to my lonely and pitiful cry.
An accent which to most means less:
Less ability. Less knowledge. Less expertise.
Notions that I could disprove
if I only had half a chance
V
I have only been a bad translation of myself
How could it be any other way?
I am in between two worlds
I did not choose to be.
How I could tell you about those things
that don't carry the same weight
that don't mean the same
if you
only speak English or Spanish
only can play with me one pre-determined way.
VI
I only have to bring with
my cat Fede and my Spanish guitars
my music CD's and my books.
.
I only need three cooking knives, my wok,
and perhaps a pizza pan
to bake bread in lazy and rainy Sundays
Anything else I need,
I'll find along the way
like those who survive
depending “on the kindness of strangers.”
VII
I have no more to prove to myself.
If I remain here, I will only repeat cycles
that won't improve or change.
More of the same. Lack of oxygen.
I'll only make official my death
VIII
It's 50 minutes past the new day.
Another day and another night
which I could do without
that I will not remember,
that I may need another time.
Time, the one and only thing
which one cannot buy more of
which one cannot re-order
like a pizza or Chinese food at midnight.
Precious seconds instants moments
that when taken for granted
is like sealing one's faith
as part of the dammed:
the ones who buy the number one brand
the ones who watch the latest TV number one show
the ones who pay attention
to the latest sports teams' scores
to see if their hometown team won
the ones who sing obediently
god bless ameriKKKa
during a baseball game
the ones who are convinced their minute and individual truth is universal
the ones who revere their country's flag
the ones who believe virtuality is reality
the ones who don't know the difference
between an embrace and random alphanumeric
characters repeated on the screen of your favorite wireless device
IX
I seek another chance to begin anew.
I'll burn all the bridges that brought me here.
I choose to go south to be myself again,
to be among family and friends
to be in my land and to grow old
where I will not fear the moment when I die
not knowing if I did all I could
or simply became lost
in whiteness' asphyxiating fog.
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