[no longer at ease]
We returned to our places, these kingdoms
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation
With an alien people clutching their gods. -T.S. Eliot
I.
after Chinua Achebe
i’m no longer at ease
when they harass us on the street;
i’m no longer at ease
when we must quicken our feet;
i’m no longer at ease
when we are profiled and searched;
i’m no longer at ease
when fear made our senses perched;
i’m no longer at ease
when officers threaten with “joy rides”;
i’m no longer at ease
when they arrested my brother before my eyes;
i’m no longer at ease
for our flood crystals become weapons;
i’m no longer at ease
for they got to teach us a lesson;
i’m no longer at ease
for even our breath is an unknown threat;
i’m no longer at ease
when they, with candle wax, trace our silhouette;
i’m no longer at ease
when they desecrated our family tree;
i’m no longer at ease
when we can’t even say, “zenjua ki”;
i’m no longer at ease
when i’m cleaned and washed for the bier;
i’m no longer at ease
for my voice is no longer here;
i’m no longer at ease
for when have we ever known ease?
i’m no longer at ease
for when will love come in ease for me?
II.
after Alejandro Jimenez
to be at ease in this country of ours,
we speak and comprehend fluently
multiple different languages. We call
it code switching, and dedicate time
to modulating our voices to fit
stupendously into cookie cutter
molds devoid of all minor feelings.
that to find validity in our character
we must speak the language of patriarchy,
inferiority, and other complexes derivative
of our identities. We are taught to define our
sense self from bare knuckle boxing in school
yards and suppressing our flood crystals
for that too will only draw more sharks.
we question ourselves daily on this land
that used to be ours, one way or another,
how we lost our art of storytelling?
For when did our voices and multifaceted
narratives become singular? when did we
forget how to speak the loving language
passed on from our ancestors? where did
love float to when we are no longer
farolas iluminando cuentos y historias
en nuestras calles? how were our voices
silenced without remorse and any further
interrogation about the dead air?
i want know what we do with
this time and moment we share in
which our bodies and souls can
fade in oblation and distant memory?
i want to pull from my quiver
of arrows and arch my bow towards
the sky. Why? because I am Otomi and,
i will keep our forbidden love song alive
within the crevices of my heart
and the depths of my soul. why must we
forget our universal language, that love
begets love into human existence
as i quiver from her loving touches
and caress of my back; i can’t help
but feel uneasy when i sometimes switch
from love to not love within seconds.
that due to being chicano and native
that i must modulate my voice
into a shotgun and become a minefield
of contradictions. Yet,i desire to not treat
my heart as a ticking time bomb, and make
my tears not grenades but cries for
revolution and peace within my community.
Because truthfully, how did we learn to
confused passionate lover affairs for
violence? When did we learn to believe
that patriarchy will fill the void
that only love can fill? I want to know
our destiny, oh country of ours, when we
are no longer just spicy anchor babies?
i desire knowledge of how mis manos de piedra
can become nurturing hands painting pictures
with my nieces and nephews? i want my breath
to be a liberating lullaby that soothes my
future children’s cries. for I’m not longer
at ease here, in this distant land
where we must always do a brave thing,
where all the stakes are stacked against us.
For no longer can we sit silently and bear witness
to our beloved brutalized by someone’s or our own
mechanisms. for as alejandro said, let us
choose to do instead the most rebellious
act of them all; let us love ourselves.