#reblogged with some updates
La llorona / campo de concentración
Elisa Chavez
Nacida María,
se llaman “La Llorona"
porque sus gritos
hacen sangrar las orejas
de poderosos hombres.
Cortan el aire,
llamando la ruina
como tormenta.Se niegan a decirle
dónde están sus hijes.
Su único crimen es cruzar.
Ella llora porque
sus hijes están en jaulas.
Están cubiertes de heces, moco,
leche materna. Los carceleros
no les dejan dormir,
y sin dormir no pueden soñar.La llorona ronda
la orilla del río,
rasgando el vestido blanco.
Los carceleros se molestan
por su falta de civismo:
están ahogando a niñes
y preferían hacerlo en paz.
El alarido de la llorona
clama justicia:
“¿Dónde están mis hijes?”La Llorona
was a selfish woman.
Beautiful but shallow.
(Aren’t they all?)
Her children interfered
with her ambition,
so she dragged them
to the riverbed.When the monster mama
crossed into heaven,
she concealed her crimes,
and would not tell the angels
where her children were.
They said to her, “You cannot enter
unless you do it the right way,"
and turned her
from heaven’s border.Don’t let La Llorona catch you
by the river,
where she still searches
for the anchor of her babies.
She haunts the banks
in her bone-white dress
and bloody reaching nails,
howling down the sun
with her cries:
"WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN?”
Good morning everybody! This is an old-new poem, first published last year in Miss Translated: A Benefit for the New Sanctuary Coalition. Today I present it to you featuring hopefully-more-legible-typeface! colors??? and, as ever, a grammar mistake I noticed at the very last minute. Don’t forget to abolish ICE! Besos a todes.
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