Wind tugging at my sleeve feet sinking into the sand I stand at the edge where earth touches ocean where the two overlap a gentle coming together at othe rtimes and places a violent clash. Across the border in Mexico stark silhouette of houses gutted by waves, cliffs crumbling into the sea, silver waves marbled with spume gashing a hole under the border fence. Miro el mar atacar la cerca en Border Field Park con sus buchones de agua an Easter Sunday resurrection of the brown blood in my veins. Oigo el llorido del mar, el respire del aire, my heart surges to the beat of the sea. in the gray haze of the sun the gulls’ shrill cry of hunger, the tangy smell of the sea seeping into me. I walk through the hole in the fence to the other side. Under my fingers I feel the gritty wire rusted by 139 years of the salty breath of the sea. Beneath the iron sky Beneath the iron sky Mexican children kick their soccer ball across, run after it, entering the U.S. I press my hand to the steel curtain— chainlink fence crowded with rolled barbed wire— rippling from the sea where Tijuana touches San Diego unrolling over mountains and plains and deserts, this “Tortilla curtain” turning into el río Grande flowing down to the flatlands of the Magic Valley of South Texas its mouth emptying into the Gulf. 1,950 mile-long open wound dividing a pueblo, a culture running down the length of my body, staking fence rods in my flesh, splits me splits me me raja me raja This is my home this thin edge of barbwire. But the skin of the earth is seamless. The sea cannot be fenced, el mar does not stop at the borders. To show the white man what she thought of his arrogance, Yemayá blew that wire fence down. This land was Mexican once, was Indian always and is. And will be again. Yo soy un puente tendido del mundo gabacho al del mojado, lo pasado me estira pa’’trás y lo presente pa’’delante, Que la Virgen de Guadalupe me cuide - Gloria E. Anzaldúa
Posted on: Sat, 26 Apr 2014 08:47:50 +0000
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