Perez

As she was lowered to the ground, I realized that I was not only saying goodbye to her. I was saying goodbye to my childhood in Saint Lucia. I was no longer a kid anymore. I was a young woman trying to find her voice and her place in the world. I realized that Saint Lucia helped me figure out who I was and who I wanted to be. I will never forget the sweet island breeze and the melanin skin. The sweet songs of Saint Lucia continue to ring in my ears. But most importantly I won’t forget my grandmother. No matter how old I get, I will never forget that I’m her girl.

Sincerely,

Your Girl

Today I allow myself to miss my soul, or well, my home from this unknown place. Almost as unknown as who will I be tomorrow? How will be the next sunset? Or what is the secret of the rain? I think, write, and live with a melancholy that weighs, an enormous and heavy melancholy, as massive as the clouds that form in the sky from the highlands that stubbornly I miss today. From a gray, monotonous, and cold city I find myself in an endless process of metamorphosis, made out of boldness and expectations that seen impossible to reach, impossible to settle, impossible to end. It doesn’t end because I keep finding the woman I was, I hug her, I connect with her, and I grab her hand; I invite her to watch sunsets that I imagine in the center of the city ignoring its buildings, its traffic, its noise, its sadness, and its lack of color. From this unwelcoming place, I try not to forget, and I repeat to myself over and over again, 6 ° 38′50 N 75 ° 27′38 W to go home and 3,994 kilometers to reduce my fears. But I interrupt myself in the middle of the tedium souvenir product, which I feel under my skin, My zamba¹ and brown skin, which now is pale and dull from a cloudy winter that steals the light and grace of those who are subjected to living it.

La Meseta -The Plauteau Sara Valentina Alvarez Echavarria

I get lost in the details, the memories, the moments, the life that has already passed and that I still feel incapable of letting go. Once in a while, I allow myself to close my eyes to feel and see beyond the chaos, boldness, and vulnerability located in my being center. I allow myself to feel the warm winds of August, the sun kissing my cinnamon skin, and the cold of April touching the tip of my nose. I allow myself to see the colorful kites, the children running in the plaza, and my friends laughing at each other after a couple of polas². I still find myself remembering faces, names, and voices in my attempt to make them eternal, I repeat them and run through my mind, I walk them as long ago I roamed the town, its streets, parks, and monuments. Among so many faces, names and voices, I try to highlight the ones that make me feel the most alive, the ones that hurt me the most, the ones that burn my soul As the midday burning sun in the church atrium. One day not too distant, I hope to return, one day very soon, I hope to be cloud, colors, plateau, and sunset. One day not too far away, I will meet with the North, with the mountains, the birds, the clouds, and the blue sky. I will meet again with the faces, the names, and the voices. From this cold and achromatic city, I embrace the Northern mountain roots that saw my mom giving me life, birth, and name. From this unknown place, I promise to return to my soul, to my home and be.

Guessing Game By: Jazmin Brooks

Before I start just remember this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you We will be talking about you this whole time Remember this, don’t forget, and let us begin our discussion The inner mechanisms of the mind make it so you gain new memories to replace the old You go through life experiencing and grieving and loving and leaving and meeting and loving and loving and loving People Places Moments Words And you remember it all And then one day comes where you start to forget all the moments and people you loved because you start to love new people and experience new things They become your new old memories It’s an ongoing and vicious cycle and most of us don’t even notice it happening One day you love them and the next day you don’t because you learned to love someone new And you forget it all Now, what is it called when you start to forget yourself? You meet new people and love them and nurture them so much that you forget to love and nurture yourself And what is it called when you stopped loving yourself right when they started loving you? And then they stopped loving you a little while after you started loving them? And what is it called when that becomes a vicious cycle too? And every time it happens you start to forget And remember And forget You try not to mess up like last time because you remember them telling you it was all your fault So, the next time around, you change yourself for them so much and so often and so deeply that you wake up one day and can’t name the face that’s looking at you in the mirror You can’t make out the smile The beauty marks The hair The scar you got as a kid for playing tag during recess because you weren’t looking where you were going You were having so much fun that day Do you remember the last time you had that much fun? Why don’t you remember? Is it because you’ve allowed yourself to only view fun as fun when it’s with the one that tore you down? The one who you met and loved and loved and loved and forgot to make sure that they loved you back just as much And when they leave you’re just waiting for them to come back or for some new love to come and do the same as they did before And that it happened again after that And again And again And again

I need you to think about this for a second Like really think Like more than you do when you obsess about it constantly throughout your day Like you do when you meet someone new to love that’s right for you and you immediately get bombarded with all the intrusive thoughts “They’re just like the rest” “Why did they say that/do that?” “When are they going to get tired of you?” Because like I said before, it’s a vicious cycle You don’t get to just start over because all you can do is kick back, relax, and reminisce on the number the last one did on you Every detail of it too Now don’t get me wrong you’re going to have an amazing time with this new one But you’re also going to have an equal amount of new memories of you in pain as you will in love Just like the last time and the time before that Don’t forget that And I know you won’t Just like that scar on your left knee You had fun that day, remember? You had fun and then you got hurt Sound familiar? Don’t tell me you forgot that too cause I know you didn’t and you never will You don’t forget the pain Just like you don’t ever let yourself forget that one day they will love you and the next day they won’t because they learned to love someone new while you were still loving them At least that’s what you’ve convinced yourself would be the case And you don’t ever let yourself forget it And I would know because this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me Because you are the reflection of everything I’ve forgotten about loving myself while trying to remember everything about my love for them And the pain from that which I cannot shake What is it called when it’s only a matter of time before I forget myself so much that the mirror looks more like a stock photo in a picture frame? Better yet, what is it called when you reminisce on only the bad and the good looks more like a birds-eye view of a city you’ll never visit again? Is the word you’re looking for something like nostalgia? Or is that trauma? By the time that we’re able to tell the difference, we’ll have already forgotten And moved on to new old memories And another round of the vicious cycle will soon begin

A Path Still Traveled

by Santana Teresa-Milagros Perez

It’s never easy to get her to come out and see me. To answer me when I speak to her. Everything must be perfect; she has to feel utterly safe and cozy. I understand. So I meet her here, out in the woods, at the edge of day and night, and find her a rock she can dangle her feet off of. I offer her what I know she loves. She arrives on her own time. I’m sure she’s wantered off the path we agreed on. Not lost, because if she loses her way on purpose, it doesn’t count. She’s small when she makes it to me. Smaller than I ever remember being. When she sits beside me, she puts a small notebook in my lap. It has a company logo on the front and a smeared marker and pencil drawing on the back. “It’s a ring! This ring my Daddy gave me! He got it from Spain.” She waves her little

hand at me, a blue ring on her finger. I smile. “It’s very pretty.” “I think it’s magic. I drew this and I’m going to write a book about it.”

Was that it? Was that all it took? “That sounds like a great book.” “I know! Do you like books?” Of course I do. I’m dedicating my life to them. “Yes. I like books a lot.” “What are you reading now?” She grabs my

backpack and opens it.