i am from Becca Hawden

LETRAS

BECCA HAWDEN

Becca Hadwen (elle) estudia sociología y español en el New College de Florida. Escribe poemas, practica yoga, produce programas de radio, y mira el atardecer. Nació y creció en Miami, Florida bajo las palmeras y sobre el asfalto. Sus abuelos maternos provienen de la Habana, Cuba y su familia paterna proviene de Nuevo Hampshire.

i am from

photo albums of things i don’t remember. swing rides and pigtails, sweat and mulch in my hair. whiteness and its poorly kept secrets. skeletons rattling in the closet, under malls, between walls.

the callused skin around Ma’s fingernails and the sound of her picking them. hands on the steering wheel. 8 years of sobriety and 8 years of a dog with a half-baked howl. rooms full of elephants and chisme. bathroom walls that sponge up secrets, drawers crammed with notebooks of rationalizations. an ocean of love that no one knows how to pronounce. a fretful love that needs to know why you’re two minutes late and you didn’t call, do you know how scared i was? generations of trauma, violence and its biological time machine. sobs stuck in the throat and going sour, forming lumps like the half-empty carton of milk in the back of the fridge. a gringo who makes café con leche and the best lechón Abuelo’s ever tasted. a woman too sick to cook dinner. a love rich enough to eat. a love to gorge yourself on. ¿por qué no comes más? aye, estás gorda nieta. a love with conditions. like no seas comunista and don’t you talk back. an island I’m not allowed to go back to. wet foot, dry foot. a lake of secrets and wonder. summers of grass-stained knees and bee stings, YA novels with coffee stains. dance lessons on Nochebuena, step forward, back, and the hips always¡allí está! y aquí estamos. dirt and crumb and ash. a past too stubborn to skip town.