Your words, they dance now (Portrait of Steph), 2024
Oil on canvas. Purchase
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Art by Ami Vasilopoulos
Poem by Stephanie Cruz Rincon
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Puerto Rico
Isla bonita
Tierra que nunca fue mía
Como es posible querer algo
que nunca he tenido
sentir que mi ser
se quiebra contra tus orillas
me ahogo en tus aguas
me parto el alma
con todo lo que me han negado
Me han quitado la vida
Me han robado la cultura
Me han dejado sin oportunidad
de tener pueblo
de tener una vida entre tus brazos
Te amo y te añoro
pero también te odio
Los trozos que me dieron de ti
Me cortaron más que tu ausencia
más de mi exilio
Fue tu rechazo
Fue la homofobia y el machismo
Fue la vergüenza por nacer
y el temor de vivir
La palara comunidad
fue un chiste que nunca entendí
Como admitir
That all I have ever wanted
was to be accepted by you
was to find the home within your shores
that came before
all the rage and violence
Where the words from my tongue tasted only of you
I don’t know how to fill this ache
or how to heal the wounds you left on me
How can I be proud of my heritage
when all I can see when I think of you
is my father
is his voice laughing in pure joy
then telling me I am horrible
his eyes haunt me at night
and his screams still echo in my soul
How can I listen to your music among all that noise?
All those shouts and curses and broken promises
Puerto Rico,
I have roots running deep within you
but they never fully formed
I was ripped from your earth
because that was the only way I could stay alive
I will never regret that
You gave birth to me
I will never forget that
But maybe
you wanted me to go
Maybe you saved my life the only way you knew
Maybe it was you
who spoke to my mother
who opened her eyes to the danger
You are water just as much as you are earth
and I have never forgotten your tides
They flow deep within me
whenever I let go
whenever I release
Yo no sé donde ir desde aquí
Pero está bien porque confió
en ti y en mí
Porque al fin creo
que con cada paso que tomo
Tú estas allí entre mis dedos
moviendo mi pelo
Yo no tengo pueblo
porque nuestra gente esta en todos los rincones de la tierra
porque mi familia es más grande de la sangre que comparto con otros
porque la cultura es fluida como tus mares
—
Immigrant-like
like being uprooted and torn
from the only home you have ever known
Your heart is neither here nor there
But everywhere and nowhere
The faces of the ones
you love most
start to blur
your favorite places
and sounds
echo
against the holes
that form in the innermost
recesses of your soul
Something breaks, inside
Immigrant-like
like you have the capacity to learn
how to be both
how to blend so well
you disappear
that is all you want
once you step foot on a foreigner’s land
Here you are one thing
There you are another
But nowhere are you ever
allowed to just be
Immigrant-like
a stranger’s words
between your teeth
rolling around clumsily
falling out with all the wrong sounds
there is no music in that language
it does not make your heart sing
it does not taste like home
not the way your mother tongue used to
No, all it does is taint your voice
so that every word you speak
no matter which language
tastes of bitterness and loss
Maybe that’s why
you were so quiet
for so long
Even after you learned
how to pronounce
each one in a way that satisfied
the adults in your life
It still felt wrong
You still felt hollow
Immigrant-like
like you will never have to worry
that your mother will be taken from you
suddenly
because she is illegal
You are privileged there
but legality and a US passport
does not make you belong
and you are reminded of that
every time someone stares a little too long
when you speak and want to swallow your words
shame festering in your heart
both for being different
yet simultaneously trying to conform
Immigrant-like
like everything you do
has an undercurrent of grief
of flapping in the wind aimlessly
like it doesn’t matter where you go
like you can get up and leave at any point
because you refuse to lay down roots
after they were taken from you
You’re afraid to at this point
To dare to call somewhere home
Because you learned early the idea of solid ground
is a lie, is a trap, is the one thing you can never have
How are you supposed to transform someone who has chaos
flowing through their bones into a homebody?
Immigrant-like
like you have been tired
since the day you were born
half your life consists of distant memories
and distorted voices
tucked away in the folds of your brain
there is a longing you cannot fucking shake
Immigrant-like
like you are torn between two worlds
You are not
You are the bridge
Your entire life has been about creating your own
Your own world, your own experiences, your own home
Learning to love yourself has come
with the realization
that your existence is an integration of everything you are
Learning to celebrate yourself
has infused a music in your voice
Your words they dance now
move round and round your tongue like they belong
they do
they are yours
You were never broken
You were bruised
Immigrant-like
is one phrase, two words
to outline your experience
but only music, only dance
can truly describe your life
Chaos exists within you but so does peace
You no longer have to choose
between one part of you and another
You are whole and you are allowed to exist as so
—
Stephanie Cruz-Rincon | Steph is a queer, nonbinary Puerto Rican poet who sees poetry as a portal. One that peels away the layer between the mundane and the magical. Their work is as much a deep internal processing as it is a way to relate and commune with others and the world.
Ami Vasilopoulos is a farmer and a portrait artist who uses her work as a form of resistance and world building. Her artwork emphasizes the interconnections of past, present, and future, and the ways in which we must learn from the past in order to create a new world.
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