scars

as you can see
(come closer if you can’t)
this body bears the marks
of a Nuyorican woman’s life in America
Harlem bloodlust mapped by my deformed epidermis
school-yard scratches and boredroom bites
and drug and poverty lines so clear and explicit
you can easily connect the blacks and blues
cold-cut wounds, ajax-induced callouses
kitchen burns and various other buffet bruises
ever-lastic, child-birth stretch marks
hickey marks long faded in the face of aids
and the womb-deep scars of incest, rape and adultery
yes, I bear all the marks of a Nuyorican woman
epidermal annals of mortal woe and rapture
each one a reminder of life in america
oh, yeah,
I’ve been pelted and punched
scratched and scraped,
cut and stabbed
burned and bit,
black and blued,
and made purple with pain
(like the time when a family doctor
forced a large silver instrument
into my 3-year-old frame
to find out if I had been “violated”
or the time when my sister
threw a pair of scissors at me
from across a room
just because
I said “quick” and didn’t say “please”
or the time when my rapist
so graciously knocked me out for several hours
so as to make things more “romantic”)
as you can see
(come closer if you can)
my skin is a history book written in human blood
an epidermal record
of a Nuyorican woman’s life in America
and I wear these scars proudly
upon my seasoned olive form
and I flaunt them in lofty quarters
whenever I get the chance
I used to hide them with long sleeves and skirts
and other quilts of disgrace
but no longer
for they serve as reminder
to those whose tone is not as sore and brittle
from lack of food and love and shelter
that there are some among you
who have not always been so blessed
and we are here to show you
that we will not hide with shame
nor negate our painful histories
and we will neither forget nor forgive
these vicious wounds of war
no, we will and do
flaunt them
for all the world to see
as you can see
(come closer if you dare)
this body bears the marks
of a Nuyorican woman’s life in America
and if you cannot bear to endure my harsh reality
then just release my due bounty
(reparations)
and just f*cking walk away

© 1994 by Marina Ortiz

(¿te gusta? pues toma más)