53. "mamitas are much like nanas" In response to In response to 52 Thu Mar-31-05 01:35 AM by rgv
>In between strands of my hair. I was the lightest >Of my cousins, and Mamitas favorite. Our native brown, >The color of coconuts and deep fried pork, gleamed in Pablo’s >Skin alone, which age had tucked into elephant-folds. He never >remembered >The questions he asked me. Instead, he’d sprinkle baby powder >like ashes >On the backs of our necks. This WWII General who never >admitted defeat > >Even when diabetes swallowed Mamita’s left foot, whole. >She never sacrificed her luxuries to her disease. So the sweet >brown >Coke confections sat in her blood and ate her from the inside. >Pablo >And Mommy and Tita Giselle pleading with Mamita, “don’t you >remember >What the Doctor said? Ano Kaba?” But spoiled, beautiful, >light- >Skinned Mamita, would rather turn to ash > >Then to deny herself what she deserved. A garden of ashes, >A testament to bull-headedness. Mamita stood up to death on >one good foot. >Refused to listen to Mommy. Would not remember >When to take her shots. Drinking down warm brown >Branded liquid to bubble in her veins. No antidotes, just >light >Dancing on the rim of the glass. And Pablo > >With his hands clasped in prayer, on her deathbed. Pablo >Crying at the crematorium. Mommy took pictures to remember >The look on Mamita’s face before blood turned to ash. >I don’t understand her motives, but the ways of brown >Skinned people are funny. We stumble in the light >& tango on tightropes with falling feet.
it's hard to watch those women w/ so much pride that much feisty that much kick in the veins fold and fall in front of us w/o even the slightest bit of regret in their form