My family call me

la Gorda la Morena Ishalanga

I roam my hood

with streams of blood

coming down my

nostrils forming an

11

because…

a. my har will always be too kinky to grow past my shoulders

b. I take long leaps with my supermodellegs & they are “supposed to take me places”, the Rodriguez’s always made sure to quickly remind me that this is the ultimate curse

c. what husband will feel proud to stand next to such an Altota?

d. men love the dainty & petite ones who ask what do you want to eat, papi?

e. my skin is too dark for the Rodriguez’s

f. my skin is too light for the Serrano’s

g. I’m the only one left who resembles my grandmother, Juana (This is the curse)

Trained my neck to be

strong enough

to hold such a heavy crown

Maybe I shouldn’t

have been left with

such a big responsibility

This abstract is hard for my family to understand

expectations make me wheeze & I become 7 again

holding up my nebulizer

I couldn’t breathe again

That’s when my family

finally took me a lil serious

I guess they realized my lil lungs

will never be able to keep

up with the lifestyle

of the shoes I was born to fill.

________________________________________

This poem contains a collection of remarks my family members and people of my culture have made to me since I was a little girl. Many women grow up hearing comments like these and it influences what kind of women we grow to be. When these things are told to us enough times, we become exactly that. I wanted to try including a list in my poem… reasons why I along with my fellow Afro Latina’s feel so lost sometimes. Perhaps these are reasons why we tend to be so defensive especially in relationships, why we love so hard, why we love so little, why we don’t raise our children telling them that they’re “too tall”, “hair is too kinky”, skin is “too light” or skin is “too dark”.

I center my stanzas, use short lines and use large spaces in the middle of lines. This is to add a dramatic effect and emphasize the extra important parts. The “extra important parts” would be where I noticed myself getting choked up as I read it out loud. My mother’s side of the family are the Rodriguez’s and my father’s side of the family are the Serrano’s. My grandmother, Juana Maria Rodriguez was the jefa, the boss. She was independent, strong minded, compassionate, yet brutal like no other. I am the only one in my family who still looks like her. The same luminous brown skin, third nipple under our left breast, drowsy posture when we stand, shoulders and collar bones that stand out especially when anyone manages to make us laugh.

Juanita was known as the O.G. that brought my family to the U.S. from the Dominican Republic, worked as a super in an old Washington Heights building to hold the door open for my mother to get an education, and thanks to her… my momma was the first to graduate college. I was born and raised in the building where I currently live. My grandmother lived there, so all of my elder neighbors still remember her light. They say, ay dios mio, te ves igualita a Juanita, Oh my God, you look just like Juanita. They still stare in awe. So, my question is, How can anyone fill shoes that big?

Yours truly,

Isha S. Serrano

The Winds Sentiments