Between Rivers

This is my first creative posting in a couple of weeks. This poem is similar to "Vale la Pena." The assignment was to write an autobiographical poem in my creative nonfiction class (about two years ago), similar to a poem we read in class. I forget exactly which poem it was, but I believe it was by a Native American poet and that she used natural elements to demarcate different points in her life. I tried to do this a bit with rivers.


Between Rivers

“Why did you have me across the river, mami? I want to say I was born and raised in Brooklyn.”
“Just say you’re from New York City, mija”
I didn’t know then that the hospitals were better
In Manhattan

We lived on the brick side of the building
I grew encased by ivy and mami’s freckled arms
Sleeping in the same pink carpeted room
Daddy would visit
I’d run up the block to greet him
As if the moment was too slow
All night they’d steal furtive glances
He gave me a wooden dollhouse so I would always love him

At five my best friend called from her house across the street
We dreamt of Krishna’s skin
In saris that dragged below our feet
Her mother fed me curry and chai
Her Daddy would visit sometimes
He gave her a fake yellow jeep
So she would always love him

“Is this what you wore when you married daddy?”
“Daddy and I were never married, I was someone else’s wife
before we met”
I didn’t know that my mother had a life before me yet

At six I wrote my first poem
And when I showed it to the teacher she hugged me
And my pen never stopped

At 8 daddy wasn’t allowed to come over anymore
But neither of them understood that when they held
My hands and swung me in between them
I flew

At 12 mami was sick
They lopped off one of her breasts
The one’s that had been like pillows, like cradles
She vomited her love into the toilet bowl
Leaving locks of hair stranded on the seat
Daddy didn’t come to take care of me
And I wrote because I was afraid
That I had forgotten what her arms felt like

“Mami, you had a stepdaughter?”
“ I had two, corazon.”
I had always thought I was her only girl

Last week I wrote a story
About a woman
Her hair flowing like algae
Her hips undulating currents
Her torso meandering, flowing through the city
But I didn’t read it to anyone

At thirteen Daddy introduced me to her
There had been others that would stroke his hair quietly
But this one stuck around for longer
She moved in with him
When I told mami she hugged me with wet eyes

“Why did you decide to have me?”
“Mija, I had had three abortions and by 41 I needed some company”
 I had never understood that kind of loneliness

At 18 I found myself in an icy city
Taking refuge in poetry and cinderblock
And stranger’s love
Running to the Mississippi
just so I could cross another river