Poetry Essays and Short Stories Letters from Prison

Hispanic Experience http://faculty.csupueblo.edu/Alegria.Ribadeneira/HispanicExperience/20...

Poetry Essays and Short Stories Letters from Prison A Mexican Standoff (Hartwick)* Bad Boy (Maes)* A Losing Game (DeHerrera) Along 180th Road Off Hwy 56 (Laws) El Bano (Casaus-Salazar) Behind the Wall (Carreiro) An Aztec Affair (Hartwick) El Bautismo de la Llorona (Sandoval) Do you feel my pain (DeHerrera) Coronado's Trail (Laws) Growing up gringa but completely latina Remembering How To Cry Criminal Minds (Salazar)* (Rodriguez) (DeHerrera) Eres Chicana 2 (Simms)* Hispano SPN 301 I am hispanic but not Mexican (Johnston)* Jobanis (Keehn) Los tres ratones ciegos (Trainor) Las Cabritas Locitas (Sandoval) Mestizo Faces, (Garcia-Simms) Libertad (Nazario)* No Side (Maes) Mi Telenovela (Cabrera) Ode To Abuelito Antonio (Vigil-Pazen) Sangre Antigua (Thurman) Pueblo 2009 (Laws) Tenochtitlan and KFC, (Garcia-Simms) Today - (Casaus-Salazar) Why do you scar me, (Vigil-Pazen) Ying Yang Poem - Captured & Freedom (Maes)

1 of 1 3/9/2018, 8:43 AM A Mexican Standoff For Lui-s Alberto Urrea

Here, in this desolate aPocalYPse where the sun is a floating hummingbird licking my fiery skin. From the mirror gardens of Mixcoac to the temple of TePaYac I have shedded tears in worshiping deities. I have walked through the valley of Mexico blossoming in the shadow of death; Soaked in sweat with cracked liPs I have stood amidst the Saguaros- a watered thinne; cactuses. I am a leaping jaguar in the shadow of a falling eagle. I heard there was a river that hisses like a serPent, I have yet to swim it. If I drown there Ird be pa1e, purple and stiff. I was once drenched in blood feasting on Tamal and drinking Pulque. In Nahuatl I have screamed I am In lzLac Aztecatl, Itznenepilli- the prince of obsidian tongues. In the courts of Tenochtitlan I have felt rose petals and thorns. From my open wounds I have gazed upon beauty. She was wrapped in cornhusk. A daughter of Tonantzin. The heart of my one world. Her sacrifice Ieft an indellible stain on the stone of Coyolxauhqui. She too is now in fragments. I have journeyed with the sun. My aching legs endure yet I am dying of thirst. Under mY cloak my heart is saddened' Not a whisPer excapes my hollow skull- only flames exitt they dazzLe like comets' rhese are mY hollow daYs' Others have crossed heret in search of Aztlan- that place of elYsium Its splendor is unbelievable' The women and chillren chew chocolatet and the warriors sharpen obsidian for war' In a twist of fate I could be in ecstacY polishing mY tongue.

By TroY E. Hartwick ALONG 180TH ROAD OFF HWY 56

Coronado passed here in 1541 prairies green with spring rain traces of cottonwood on breeze fish jumping in clear run near bank where horses stopped to drink

An Aztec Affair For Salma Hayek

In Coat#coalcos- a village of stone serpents. where lightning struck a temple twice, scarlet smoke rose. Our obsidian eyes rattled in our search for gods. We found nothi-ng, -not evea a Quetzal in sight. The music of our touching tongues serenaded the hummingbirds. Our glass hands caressed the wounded jaguars. While the butterflies fluttered around your navel I painted purple petals on your breast. I felt your heartbeat. You rubbed your eyelids to a mauve shade and Dawn shattered. You whispered something in Nahuatl, only Huitzilopochtli knew. His radiance set your face ablaze. I named you Xiuhxochitl- for you were a fiery flower blossoming in the garden of my thoughts. You bowed in beauty, your Quetzal plumes burned and your braided hair unraveled like bl-ack ivy. Clouds of dust came dancing at your feet. Before I held you in my arms, I fell to my knees and worshiped your fire. I kissed the earth you walked upon.

By Troy E. Hartwick CORONADO'S TRAIL

Starting at Two & Nine Bar from when Elizabeth Street was Valley Highway that wound to Lake Avenue before exiting city on way past Huerfano Butte on stretch to mining towns that fed Colorado Fuel & Iron

Waitress in black with lots of silver says bikers've been through one shot slammed back no food then back on road to Taos & Vietnam Memorial La Veta Pass to cross then down backbone of Sangre de Cristos on Hwy 159 & 3

I choose sausage grinder that would have been on menu when men back from war took to roads and wandered America Henry Miller saying Pueblo "a town lost in time and space" this one of places snapped with Brownie or Father's 35 MM that he developed film from in basement on Plymouth Street losing darkroom to his own darkness never developed during war lost 50's and early 60s to afternoons extending into evenings at Two & Nine's on back roads between Philadelphia & Wildwood no bars on new interstate highways

I'm heading east to Dodge in search of Coronado's trail at Boss Hogg's Saloon I stop for caffeine in La Junta junction where Santa Fe Trail heads south to Trinidad two bikers sip Coors from long necks road atlas spread on bar

On way out of town I pass familiar abandoned motel across from Winter Livestock appearing in Louis L'Amour novels nights I'd read and write to cattle lowing days I'd hike canyons of Purgatory River Valley

Make Garden City a little before 8:00 hour added since passing into Central explore house I'm staying in choose room on 2nd floor with balcony shower in one closet stool & sink in another I walk down Kansas looking for a beer end up at Three Margaritas OPEN light on at street level but when I open door I'm met by man at bottom of stairs who says CLOSED I ask where I can get something to eat say I'm on foot he invites me in easier than giving directions in English to out-of-towner

I haven't stopped since La Junta except for a ticket officer confused about limit thinking it 55 instead of 65 but stubborn fining me $139 confused when I accept but I soared through corn & wheat & alfalfa looking for chain mail which I take to be mesh armor not letters promising cities of gold

From front porch wicker rocker Sunnyland House defies itself with one dark room onto another under pale light moths at glass inside wrought iron I read Ludlow verse-novel about Colorado mining camps in Kansas you just drain river down to siltbed pump up natural gas plant corn & wheat under pivot arms

The Turk led Coronado to Quivira on banks of Arkansas Kansas or Smoky Hill depending on who you read Coronado Pike Fremont Santa Fe Atkinson & Topeka a Rendezvous of poets trails cross and double back DeSoto just missing Coronado

There's no gold there's hardly any water 100th Meridian switch turns from hot & dry to hot & sweaty the ground's fertile if fed what it retains are dreams and the twisting clicking clack like flags of countries of the incessant wind

Criminal Minds

Mi Corazon is heavy with grief Mi mente is also obscure No entiendo a criminal mind Cuando esfan so insecure

Taking las vidas de innocent people Sin cargo de conciencra, they carry a gun Stafking victims pa sus mal intenciones Cuando most of sus vidas had just begun

No comprendo their violent acts They torture, en veces, raping their prey Los innocenfes so alone and scared Luchan porsus vidas, beg and pray

Esfos matadores loose all their fear Sin compascion have no self esteem No /es importa who their victims are Mientras e/los ponder their next scheme

Donde estaban los Angeles who watch over them Que se durmieron or were over-come by Lucifer Were they, maybe, protecting algun otrc O nomas dejaron suerfo a mad murderer

Todavia no entiendo the criminal mind Todavia mi corczon is full of grief Horrible crimes estan duras to forget Rezamos que Dios nos de some kind of relief

Written by Alfie Casaus Salazar 2009 Eres Chicana by Charlene Garcia Simms I am a Business major Eres Chicana Pragmatic, analytical My Tio Gilbert asked me I live in the present, not the past No! I am Spanish-American I see myself on Wall Street I told him muy enojada (angrily) Not painting a mural wall At the thought that he thought I called myself a Chicana I will get a piece of the American Pie on my own I don’t’ need their help or affirmative action Those Chicanos are embarrassing Anglos tell me that I’m different They all have a damn chip on their shoulders That I’m not like THEM Acting like Pachucos And I feel proud because I don’t want to be Speaking like Cholos And those who I have class with One day, when my dad told me my Tio Tonito died Always bring up excuses why I refused to go to his funeral They picket Richardson Hall Because I just didn’t want to hear any more Mexican music, chanting and crying and I did I don’t understand Not want to see one more dead body nor people They say we are Mestizo circling around the coffin saying over and over Half-Indian and half-Spanish what a good man he had been That the Spanish Conquistadors Were murders and if I don’t I no longer wanted to speak Spanish and Call myself Chicana When I did, it had an Anglo drawl I am a traitor to my people My dad would tease me that I was becoming Angringada (Anglicized) and I would smile I ignore them in the hallway Because that is what I wanted to be And don’t go near their table at orientation I don’t want to be like them I met my husband to be Unable to make it an Anglo world And I couldn’t understand why he was so Fascinated with my culture and my people They congregate as if Everything was so backward The world owes them something Chile and Frijoles were mundane They always seem to be angry Fresh made tortillas were ordinary Calling the police fascist pigs Every Anglo is a racist to them THEN! And those like me, a vendida The trumpet sounded Sudden and sad like a reveille They show no respect and As if doused by hot water Will get in people’s faces I saw reality I didn’t grow up that way Some of my best friends were Anglos If I could turn back the clock Some of my best teachers also I would go to Tio’s funeral The nurse who cared for my abuelita And mill around the coffin adding On her deathbed had the last name Johnson To the already stated proclamations She held my abuelita’s hand That he had indeed been a good man. As she took her last breath I am Hispanic but not from Mexico

I am Hispanic but not from Mexico I speak Spanish but not del viejo I don’t eat enchiladas, tacos or tortillas That’s not really any of my comidas

I am Hispanic but not from Mexico

I come from another America similar but not a replica My America is the one in the south Far away from the big crowd

I am Hispanic but not from Mexico

I don’t hear musica grupera But the one of the cordillera I don’t wear big sombreros Nor I say the word gueros

I am Hispanic but not from Mexico

I am Happy to be a different Hispanic From where the mountains are volcanic The Incas are part of my history Not the Aztecs or Mayan victory

I am Hispanic but not from Mexico

I am proud of being confused And I even feel a little bemused

But the truth is…..

We are all from only one Latino world No matter where we are from

Los tres ratones ciegos

Cristóbal Colón vio sus tres barcos patéticos las sogas arrastrando a los bolardos del muelle de Palos. Pensó en los reinos, que después de su gran conqusta de Granada, le habían dado tres barcos pequeñitos, como si hubieran tenido una ocurrencia tardía cruel.

Observó las aperiencias de esas cajas que hacían agua, ya de mediana edad, con sus propias cubiertas albeadas de madera de pino. Colón vio con desánimo la Nao fea y las dos caravelas insignificantes flotando como tres pedazos de basura tirados.

Pensó en un nombre adecuado para ellas, "Los tres ratones ciegos". ¡Carajo! Él había tenido esperanzas de una gran expedición bajo la bandera victorioso de España y, de todos modos, para la gloria y la abundancia de la familia Colón.

Había imaginado una flotilla de buques con las bodegas llenas de oro y de especias. Pero esa mañana pensó en sus tripulaciones miserables y habló entre dientes: "He vaciado las cárceles. He invadido los burdelos, y he robado las cunas. He hecho promesas falsas y he mentido sobre mi saber de geografía del mundo."

¿Cuántas veces los hombres, sin visión, habían visto fuera de la caja, le habían destruido los sueños y le habían destrozado sus deseos? ¡Los hombres en posiciones altas (y las mujeres por cierto) se habían burlado y lo habían rechazado!

Últimamente, al alba de un buen día de 1492, Colón pensó, con un optimismo renovado, "Ah, Los tres ratones, quizá con un poco de la suerte puedan agarrar el queso".

Daniel B. Trainor Noviembre, 2009 Mestizo Faces By Charlene Garcia Simms I walk along the streets of Tenochtitlan in the year 2002

The faces I meet along the way Have familiar noses, eyes, and lips

The colors of the faces Are a spectrum of brown

The color of the eyes vary From black as coal to a unique blue

I hear the language of my childhood A Castillano from Andalucia

And it’s coming from mestizo, Indio and Criollo mouths

As they sell their chili’s and maize With calabacitas on the street corners

Or exchange my money At the Swiss bank

All trying to make a living whether Dressed in Wrangler, Camisas or Gooci

Whether their shoes are Leather boots Huraches or Wing-tip

I am amazed that the meshing of Two cultures has survived

Since the time my Spanish grandfather Raped my Mejica grandmother

There is no denying No where to hide

The connexión lives In the Mestizo Faces

No Side I am from no side, East, West, North or East side, I reside at the Wayside, The hot sun is burning my chest, I'm just trying to do my best, Trying my hardest not to break my stride, "No thanks, I will not need a ride," I barely have any pride, I am from No Side, In no one may I confide.

~Maria Maes~ Colorado State University-Pueblo Secondary Education (English/Spanish)

OOf fO AgUeUfO ANTONIO ... ANToNlo or Jrsus Varmlos by Y.Moxine Vigil-Pozen - April 6,2008

When I wos just o tYke There wosn't moneY to ride o bike Abuelito Antonio PloYed o violin So, I donced ond hod fun with him. He'd drow his bow ond ploy with clority ond precision.

I followed to ond fro doncing oll oround him to the rhythm. Oh! the doys ond yeors drow Post

His memories will certoinly olwoys lost. I'll never forget GrondPo Antonio

from my Mofher's memories (Louise Vigil) PUEBLO

Enough high school Spanish to know I wanted to live in a town called "town" when first I heard it in Wildwood, wild not wooded barrier island in South Jersey first only good for cattle to graze on dunes, secondly for tourists, not what it was that gave it soul, but what it wasn't, winters alone when every one went home is where I get rootedness to sit in courtyard observing garden no one tends, birds in two and threes, light of limb, weightless of wing, my opera, ballet, symphony in key that others sit patiently for and I cannot wait to leave, no ticket to pay, no beginning, intermission, or champagne, just water for tea boiled on stove lit by match, not mattering if anyone ever comes back.

Tenochtitlan and KFC By Charlene Garcia Simms

The little beggar girl Scouting her surroundings Came my way With her outstretched Hand and waif-like look

I asked her in Spanish For her name, her age Where she lived Como te llamas, que tantos Años tienes, donde vives

She puckered her Mejica lips And told me her name and that She was five years old and lived Over there, pointing randomly Me llamo Lucha; tengo Cinco años, y vivo aya

I gave her a coin Which she eagerly took With a grin and Ran around the corner With the five pesos In her firm grip

Later that evening as we Were walking to dinner in Zona Rosa I looked up and saw the Colonel Prominently displayed in white tails With the famous red letters, KFC And in Spanish, finger lickin’ good

When I looked down there was Lucha, her mother, and siblings Huddled around a bucket of KFC Covered with raggedy blankets as They settled in for the night atop the Gray cement that now covers The conquered Tenochtitlan

Cgs 1-16-03

TODAY

Today when I woke uP I thanked God for another daY For my familY and friends That they maY not go astraY

Today lwillthank Him For everything He's given me Life, children, faith and love Butterflies and birds flYing free

Today is here and now Too short and unforeseen l'll make the most of it First my coffee, no caffeine

Today comes to an end Tonight I will PraY again Thank Him for a good daY As l end todaY with Amen

Wriften bY Alfie Casaus Salazar 2009

Captured

What the hell did you do to me?

Your smile is so warm, your eyes so full of hope and happiness,

I want to kiss your lips constantly,

To touch your skin softly,

I want you every minute,

You have melted my heart, or should I say captured it,

It all seems like a dream – perhaps gone by morning,

I want you all to myself,

Greedily,

My heart has been captured

Freedom

What the hell didn’t you do to me?

Your smile is so cold, your eyes devoid of hope or happiness,

I don’t ever want to kiss your lips ever,

I want to hit you upside your head,

I reject you every minute,

You have frozen my heart, or should I say released it,

It all seems like a nightmare – I can’t forget by morning,

I don’t want you,

Generously,

My heart has been released.

~Maria Maes~ Colorado State University-Pueblo Secondary Education (English/Spanish)

Bad Boy Why, why do I like the "Bad Boy", Because he does not conform to society, -He stands alone, His sleeves of tattoos turns me on too, Everything he does goes against the grain, His thirst for life is fierce, He loves to party, Though I know he will cause me so much pain, I love the game, I am totally insane.

~Maria Maes~ Colorado State University-Pueblo Secondary Education (English/Spanish)

EL BANO Ihe Bath

nor soak in I don't take baths anymore . Yo no me bano with bubbles it's the truth' but it warm water and relax either. Cuando digo que no me bano, lay down in a tub' doesn,t mean f'* Oirty anO ttnft ta veiaaa es, I can't sit or sagging ladies lf I do, no me puedo'llevantar sola. Y quien q_uiere ver this old yo no me miro in body, anyway? Not a pretty sight, inatt fo1 syre, por eso nude of lifter for the mirror. I heird or read toteih"re, donde tienen some kind you just put it someone like me. Es mucho trabajo for me to get up but they say position' con mi in the tub, much like on a chair, and it'll lift you up to a sitting ,r"rt" it'fl probably break, y tuego que? Fatta si pudien compmr one of those -aOuertiseO and take new walkin-tubs ih"t on TV, I would be able to soak those tubs, long warm baths, with no"re help. El vecino mando fn'er information on que tanto queston??? Lots and lots of dinerc que no tengo' Besides f pienzas??? my"i0"" bathroom would be worth mas que toda ta casa. Que no hard Good thing we have a shower, aungue, tambien, hay veces that it's standing ,p really doesn't have the-same relaxing benefits as soaking' fres o Todavia, it's better"nd que cuando era nina. Our baths were limited to about yeces la semana. We had to haul la aqua for drinking, cooking, para cuatro y llavar ropa y /os banos. Teniamos que partir la_ lena to heat the estufa el inen we would put water en un 'calientone', an oblong tin tub, to heat the cuafto, y water. En esos dras, some of the wood stoves had a water tank built into them ii^pn tenias hot water. Ours didn't didn't, so we had to to use the water calientone s y tambien /os pafos (kettles) y ottas (buckets) to heat enough to use for bathing or to wash clothes. For washing dishes we'd use a big bandeja y los Patos. On bath days we used to put the warm water in a'caiete'(a round tin tub) ;banco.s', which mother *orlO put up on (benches) or a low table so she could scrub us, adding hot wateras needed. Most of the time, two or three of us kids, privacy until nos baniabanos en la misma aqua, at the same time. we had no we reached puberty. Entonces, poniamos 'qiltas' (blankets) around chairs or get in a corner and lock the door. In between baths, we'd fill a'vndeiita' (small ilasn pan) with warm water and use soap and a small 'toellita'to wash our bOdies. Someone once said, "Yeh , cOmO laS muiereS de Ia noche'" Whatever, but I still don't think we were dirty nor stinky. I emembe( una vez, un primo was staying with us y quieria banarse. parents had gone pa Ia plaza' He Wefl, he was mentally-and chailenged and our chased us all outside locked the doors, pero no fapo (covered) las ventanas. sooo, we peeked in the window, hollered at him, teasing him saying we could ,"e hit standing en el caiete, provoking him, until he got really tn"q' He stood up, wrapped a iowel around his waist, habio la puerta,sa/io and chased us around Ia casa, dropping su 'toella' (towel) donde iba coniendo atras de nosofros. We were iaugiing so hard to see a grown man cussing and naked, but at the same time we got icared. We all ran and hid from him, until he went get back in the house, still c-ussing at us. He wasn't a mean man but could we could hear him' viofent if provoked. At ratito llegaron nuesfins padrcs and Did we get a stiti cussihg and yellinj, telling t6em que habia pasado. Boyl scolding. we did' y Now I ask los muchachos if they would like to take a bath like is always going to que creen que dicen? Right. They talie showers like if water long showers a be there. No saben como conserve water, taking two or three I take long' day. Can a p"r"on get that darty??? | still don't take baths nor do myself' *"6 relaxing bubbd baths, I'm iust lucky I can^sttill take a shower by Take sponge baths como Que irapassar cuando lwon't be able to do that??? las muieres de la noche??? Written by Alfie Gasaus Salazar 2009

Growing Up Gringa, but Completely Latina!

My parents were born during the Depression in Harlem, New York. Their parents immigrated to the U.S. from South America and Puerto Rico. When I came along, the last thing my parents wanted to do was raise me in their Latino culture so they set about raising me as gringa as possible. And in hindsight, I admit to a certain extent they succeeded. I didn’t grow up hearing, talking or learning Spanish. I didn’t even really grow up hearing the Latin musical sounds that are so much a part of my life now. I grew up anglo, but with a last name of Rodriguez.

Under my parents reign, I never lived in a Hispanic neighborhood and certainly none of my friends were of Latin descent. It wasn’t until sometime during undergraduate school that I started making friends with other Latinos. I became part of an international student organization where students from all nationalities participated, got along, and flaunted their cultures. It was here that I became borderline embarrassed that I didn’t know the Spanish language, didn’t cook any of the foods indigenous to the Hispanic culture and certainly didn’t know any of the many wonderful things that make up my heritage. I was an outsider in the small group of Latinos studying at the University of Texas at Arlington that year. But even though I felt alienated, the alienation was internal - my mind trying to grapple with who I was, who I was to become. While working on my undergraduate degree, I took a summer off to go to Spain. I enrolled en la Universidad Complutense Madrid and had an absolute blast. Between classes’ en la U, a private tutor and immersing myself in the culture, I formed a solid foundation for major decisions later in life.

Upon graduating with a BA in Communication, I did something unexpected – I traveled to South America to learn about my ancestors and learn the language. My parents were shocked! “Why go now, when you have just graduated?’ They could not understand. I knew that I needed some questions answered and an adventure to South America was exactly in order to continue my search of who I was and who I was to become. With $200.00 in my wallet and an infinite amount of optimism, I arrived in Ecuador in complete naiveté.Traveling to a new country and experiencing a new culture can be exhilarating and scary simultaneously. The adrenaline and curiosity are peaked as one tries to fit in new surroundings. I arrived at the home of a distant family member who I had never met and tried to fit neatly into their lives. That lasted about two months, 1 1/2 months too long. I was their white novelty and could not live in the small box their minds had prepared for me. Once I found a job teaching at an international school and a place I could afford, I ventured out once again on my own, much to the disdain of my newfound relatives.

My first year in Ecuador was full of learning, adjusting, exploring and although I experienced some difficult situations with taxi drivers, bus drivers and hepatitis, I loved it. Discovering Maná, Luis Miguel and Shakira along with ceviche and cafécito con leche left me wanting more. One year turned into nearly eight and only after a coup d'état, I decided that it would be best to move back to the states with my three year old son and Ecuadorian husband in tow.

Nearly eight years gave me a healthy dose of learning about my heritage, learning a second language and earning the right to call myself a Latina. The experience also taught me a lot about myself, my never satisfied hunger for adventure, and the stuff I was made of – tenacity, curiosity, flexibility, and diplomacy.

Back here in North America it took me time to adjust to a much different lifestyle. It was a shock and difficult for me to get used to the break neck pace of life that characterizes my home country, the intensity of building a career and overwhelming consumerism that can keep our priorities askew.

In reflection, my time in South America was life changing. The tranquil pace of life, domestic help, the natural beauty of the country, the lack of preservatives and additives in the food, the music and the beauty of the Spanish language - these are some of the things I miss. I would not trade that season in my life for anything. I am a better person for having lived where my grandparents were born, for learning Spanish and the many rich idiosyncrasies that are now part of me - empower me to boast that I am a Latina. Living here in the United States, raising my son to be true to his Latin culture is a wonderful responsibility that I now take great pleasure in. Hispano

Cuando pienso en la palabra hispano pienso en las personas que son de lugares que hablan el idioma de español. En las diferentes culturas y tradiciones. Como también en las deliciosas comidas que para mi son las mas ricas. Yo nunca he probado la “paella” pero suena muy rica; mariscos, arroz o cuscos, ¡no se! Pero con solo pensar en mariscos suena muy rico. ¡mmm!

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Para mi ser hispano es haber nacido y haber sido criados por personas latinas o hispanas. Tener el idioma español como primer idioma. En el mundo hay muchos latinos. En los concursos de bellezas, como Miss Universe, siempre las ganadoras son latinas, la mayoría del tiempo. Somos conocidos por nuestros diferentes acentos y diferentes pero muy similares culturas; ser hispano o latino es lo mejor!

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Muchas personas en nuestro comunidad son Hispanoamericana, y muchas hablan español. Es necesaria para personas profesionales hablar español mejor que ingles están tratado iguales. Mi primero titulo universario es de trabajada social y yo trabajada al hospital del estado de Colorado y aprendía la necesidad de trabajadas sociales a hablar español.

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No había muchos hispanos donde yo crecer cuando era niña. En realidad no sabia que había diferente nombres que distinguen una persona. Cuando fui a una escuela Americano eso es cuando yo aprendí que yo era hispana.

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Yo no soy de España o México y no hablo el español perfecto. Se que tengo antepasados de los dos países y todo mi familia les considera Hispano. Siempre estoy aprendiendo del idioma y de la cultura.

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Cuando pienso o escucho la palabra Hispano me hace pensar en todo lo que tiene que ver con Hispano. Como el país de México, la comida, las tradiciones y muchas mas cosas. Se oigo la palabra quiero saber de donde es, como es su vida, que diferencias hay entre yo y la otra persona. También las comidas, tradiciones como son y porque las preparan y hacen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Cuando oigo la palabra “hispano” a mi mente se me vienen muchos recuerdos de personajes de revistas, periódicos y noticias. No son buenos estos recuerdos. Siempre oigo “En el mundo hispano, violencia y desastre a sucedido”. No me gusta oír esto. Yo pienso que le da una reputación mala a la palabra. Claro que pasan cosas malas por todo el mundo, pero pienso yo que en este tiempo es mas fácil discriminar al mundo hispano. Pero espero que pronto cambie, y la palabra Hispano no sea tan discriminada.

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Cuando escucho la palabra Hispano me siento como soy importante porque yo soy latina. Me gusta que puedo decir “soy de Panamá!” me da alegría y me da sonrisas. Cuando gente hablan de hispanos me da ofencia porque me da vergüenza.

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Estimado producta de diccionarios, Yo le escribo para mandar que en la palabra “Hispano” sea removada completamente del diccionario Castellano pero también de otros idiomas del mundo. Esta palabra no solo es muy fea a estereotípica a una persona de Latino América, pero también muy racista. Nunca e visto que llamen a un Afrinoamericano “Negro”. Muchas gracias

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Un hispano puede ser muchas personas. Los hispanos son la gente que habla español y son de Suramérica. El hispano es una persona inteligente y bonita(jajá) bueno esa es mi opinión pero porque soy hispana. Un día los hispanos vamos a conquistar el mundo. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Es muy difícil para mi ser Hispano-americano porque mi madre es hispana. Cuando visito mi familia no nos gusta o caí bien porque ellos piensan que somos “muy muy” pero así no somos. Es como dijo la papa de Selena en su película, “tenemos que ser mas mexicanos que los mexicanos y nos tenemos que ser mas americanos que los americanos”. It’s exhausting. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cuando yo veo la palabra hispano, hay muchas cosas que yo puedo pensar. La primera cosa que pienso en mi mente es alguien que habla el español, como un hispano hablante. Cuando oigo la palabra hispano también pienso en alguien de es de un país donde hablan español, como México, España, Nicaragua, o muchas mas países. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cuando yo pienso a esta palabra yo voy a soñar con España, una tierra muy preciosa con muchas comidas como la paella y como podemos olvidarnos de la sangría. Hispano me acuerda España porque yo soy Europea y por lo tanto esta nación es muy cercana a Italia donde yo vivo. Cuando yo pienso en la España yo me acuerdo también de los artistas españoles como Garcia Lorca y su caracoles, Miro, Picasso. La palabra hispano puede ser utilizada también por lo que viven en Hispano-América y dado que yo soy en lo Estados Unidos ahora yo quiero aprender mas de este mundo hispanoamericano que es muy cercano de aquí. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Una jornada hispano-americana es muy cansante. La mañana me desierto y empiezo a pensar lo que tengo que hacer en la jornada: estudiar para el WRL de comprensión y el de retorica; hacer los ejercicios para la clase de español; traduar en novela el tiempo para con consiguarla el viernes… y también tengo que hablar Ingles todo el día y a fine jornada me siento destructa… pero es muy constructivo porque viviendo aquí estoy aprendiendo muchas cosas del mundo y puedo decir que mi lengua Inglesa y también Española ira a mejorar cada vez mas. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie es un hispano muy guapo. Es como cinderela en un trapo. Cuando lo veo en la mañana quiero cantar en la montana. Él es muy caro y muy inteligente. Todo el tiempo usa su imaginente. Él es un buen amigo. Él dijo “Quiero ser amigos contigo”, pro cuando dijo “che”, el dijo “soy gay”. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

H-ola me llamo Aubrielle Está I-ncreible que viva en Colorado E S-pañol están muy divertido e interesante P-orque la lengua está bonita Soy de A-rizona N-o me gusta ir a fría Te amO- mi vida ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hispano es una palabra muy importante por los países de Latino América. Aunque, la mayoría de la gente en Latino América son “Latino”, la palabra de Hispano tiene mucha significa de la nueva historia y cultura de la mezcla de dos culturas y mundos. También los Américas se conocen como Hispana América. La significación de la mezcla esta muy conocido en las comidas, bailes, edificios, y lenguas de estas áreas. Por ejemplo algunas personas hablan la lengua española con palabras de los indígenas. stupid It is hot, the heat beating down in angry waves, daring one (if Yut "-* solace enough to venture out in this kind of heat), to try and do anything but find in the shade, ln sombra. Maybe with a tall glass oI limonada... tal aez unfl ceroeza? only the But, there is no shad e, no limonada, and'foriure no beer' Not even a tree, few scattered cactus and an ocean of desert sand in any direction. The sunlight could hits the sand and waves of heat hover just above the earth, as if the earth catch fire at any moment. Only there is nothing to burn as the earth is already almost dead here. Cracked uttd bhrt"red, its existence beat down by the potencia de la sol It is nine-thirty in the morning and |obanis has been walking since eleven last night. If there was a thermometer handy, he would have seen that the teirperature has already reached ninety seven degrees' At noon, when t}:re pinclu when he hambre baracha would iealizehe'd made a wrong turn, gone ala derechn should have gone izquierda, it will be one-hundred and nine. The night was cool, in cooler at eignity-three, and ]obanis wishes now there was a way to walk only the night uit, ihut during the day, somehow they could rest, but there was no time to rest. jobanis knows this stranger leading himself, lis sobino., and the four other men ihrough the desert is hifh. Drunktn whatever was in the flask he kept in the he sprinkled on *h: aip of his back iocket of his dirty iiu*. Tonto from whatever finger in a small bag and cigaio. ]obanis has also seen this man dip his pinky sriort up his nose whatever it is he sprinkles on-his cigarettes b:'l Heroin ? blazing Mota? pitlr" loca,lobanis thinks as he lets this man lead them through the desert. He has never done drugs, nunca. Has not smoked themota that sometimes he knows his nephews smoke. It makes one muy loca, no puedo recordar nadn' It after a makes one do coias estupdias. sometimes |obanis will drink beer. Maybe long day at work or on a Sunday afternoon with his brothers he will have a couple beers. But never drogas. who he has paid three- Iobanis keeps his head down as he follows the stranger long thousand American dollars to lead him to his freedom. Is it worth it? This walk through the desert heat to maybe get across the border and into Estados tJnidoswhere there is money to be made that he knows he will never find in his own country.To risk death, to walk miles without water while his throat is dry, on cracking ugui*t his tongue when he tries to swallow. He keeps his thoughts awaits what lies ahead, the proirise that America will bring, the opportunity that the him and the family ire has left behind.. When his mind drifts to Ariela, with things' eyes leaden with i"*, u, she kissed him good'by., he shifts it to other to There is no time here, in the desert that threatened death and uncertainty, think of foolish things such as how much he already misses his wife. His beautiful esposa. ,,FIow long?,,she had whispered when he told her of his plans. and "l-lnfl ano, tal vez mas." A year, mayh more. Ariela had shaken her head' turned from him,hiding ti.u eyes that were sure to make him angfy with their pain.FIe was, after all, doing this for them. For her and for the baby they longed io conceive. And she was grateful, yes, but in her heart, deep within her already broken corozon, she wished him to stay. "Tengo sed," lobanis hears his nephew behind him. I am thirsty. He shakes his head without looking back at the boy. There is no time for thirst, no time to think of thirst. With no agua, one must not think of thirst. His eyes focus on the brown earth beneath his tired feet and he continues walking. Ignoring the demands of his mind for water, por faaor poquito aqua,he continues walking. He has traveled this desert before. It has been almost ayeat, maybe eight months since he last tried to escape the confines of his broken country. Caught by Ia migra and thrown in jail for the night and then released back to his country. He had walked, in shame, the miles home, defeated and broke not wanting to look his esposa bonita in her beautiful brown eyes. Swore to himself he would make the next journey a success, the next time he would make it and on the other side of the border to a life of hard work that he would be rewarded for. This life he deserved and this life he swore to himself he would give his wife. Not leave her in poverty with his children as he had watched his pinchebaracha father do to his mother. fobanis stops walking. The pinche bnracho is arguing with one of the other men who has paid him in promise of freedom. The nran, maybe in his late forties, is pointing back from where they came from, shaking his head and throwing his arfi$ in the air. The man is sweaty, his shirt, tied around his head is soaked and dfuty.The naked upper half of his body is wet and glistens in the glaring sun. He points from the direction they just came from again and curses in Spanish at the guia baracho and begins walking past the rest of the men who stand there watching. He walks pastJobanis and does not look at him. fobanis watches as the man continues walking in the direction they just came from. He sees the miles they have just come, stretching out into an abyss of exhaustion. The drunk guide curses and begins walking after the man. He catches Jobanis' eye and spats on the ground as he walks past but does not say a word. Slowly, the other men begin to turn and follow. Jobanis catches the eye of his youngest nephew, the last born of his oldest brother's children, old enough to be his younger brother. Still, fobanis feels responsible for this boy, out here in the desert that could surely kill you. With his eyes, jobanis tells his nephew, they must turn around and follow. They must re- walk the miles they iust covered and they must not complain. fobanis can tell the boy is tired. He can see what's left of the boy's moisture dripping off of his dark skin. His lips are cracked and Jobanis sees blood soaked into the huraclrcs the boy wears on his feat. He turns without a word and feels his nephew follow in his footsteps. They cannot stop and cannot afford to stay in this desert alone. Without following the other men, they are sure to see their final days drawn slowly out under the scorching desert sky. this time in the opposite They walk for three hours along the same path only that this was supposedto happen' that direction. |obanis reasons within his head turn when they were really maybe if the pirrn guia baracho hadr{t made a right is something ,"iporua to go tefi that ln migra would have found them' This retrace his steps' thirsty' convinces timself of and walks on, thankful to fobanis his life in the salne ghetto hot, rather than to fail agairy to get caugh! and w-a1te he walks oru blind to the hot he had grown up in.thls keept ni* rioving and swallow him' His freedom miles that surround him, the miles that threaten to awaits him, and for this, he walks on' and intenslty of the desert Day has slipped in to night an{_fo1 the break in heat around them with the rising sun is thankful Uirt Ure blackness that creeps lobanis nray creep out of the moon, makes t i, t uurt tight in his chest afraid br *nut the snakes' out in the unknown to snatch what-lvas left of his soul' He hears day when the earth is night, unable (or unwilling) to come out during the on either side of him' daring cooked, scorched by the hoidesert sun. They slither risk the sinking teet! him to make u *rlr,g step, to land on one of them and here, body poisoned and shooting venom thai would surely leave hi* oll on without him' why risk shutting down, while the others *"r" forced to walk stranger' that was stupid their freedom, their lives for some ptnche desconocido, a enough to be bitten bY a snake? pace behind him. Each step painful' feet long ]obanis walks, his nephew keeping a bloody friction on oPen ago blistered and now rubb"a tu*, huraches creating ahead, and wond"tJho* much longer it will be sores. Jobanis thinks of the miles soil' He had counted his before he is to touch his feet to the richness of American yesterday? Cient"dos cien"'tres steps for a while, was it hours ago, or was that five? He found his mind cien.... when had he lost count? Four hundred, mayh would keep his mind drifting to Ariela, and found not even counting his steps in she fled and has from filling with thoughts of his wife, so he gun" ,tp, and been taken, dozens of times' accompanied him in hi; mind now for hours- H" hut as he lay with his wife the to the memory of the darkest hours just before dawn last time. of-one another' ,,Llna barnbinfl," she whispered as they filted the deepest pa{1 away' "Por de darme desperate to hold onto this moment quicldy slipping faaor unibambina. Por faaor, mi amor"'" out the-sounds of the Her words whisper to him now as he walks on, shutting that whisper ideas of slithering culebras,shutting out the other parts of his mind not for it's people like that of death and suffering at theirands of. a gobiirno that is her voice with him and it is this los estadas uniilos.Iiis only Ariela *if," carries putting one bloody foot voice that makes him keep goin& that makes him keep in front of the other. never end' Maybe it has Night is long and |obanis thinks that maybe it will He is aware of the swallowed them akeady,and it is here theywalk in death' across the warm desert silent save for their feet shuffling other men though, misery' he knows he these men, walking in floor. If he still hears thelo.wnrilent the endless desert a chanJe of walking through is not dead and that he still has sun is he knows i! (how time ti::) the fr:[Hi]?"5"TT;fiffi?rore is struggling'by now' Uttle stren$hlobani: hT::tl' threatening to take *nut pain shoots is laborious to lift ""his legs, and one foot infront of the other.-It to put he will *utu it' if his body his weary b"&. ilwonders if through every purt or *i"d it to. How long since he continue to keep doing as his &ilg yllt to will without water? Hunger has ceased sat down? How long has hi' bJi;o# has s flguahil body screams for' issue, and it is only water, tlrririioo be an men ancl tiren suddenly' the man mindlessly along with the other He shuffles direction, is smiling. He has from walking further in the waong who saved them with the pinche gnia who no and is smiling as he shakes hands stopped walking thepinclu guiahasvanished This happe*;;ttkl)t and then longer seems drunk. scattered with adobe the silent desert that has suddenly"becoml.sp*'uiy not into small |uildings before' he does buildings. How aiJ f"r" not see tt"tu-#fote know,butwhenherecogni,u,.h",,,forwhattheyare,theblessedcasitasdeNewand like i;;p; t9 his inees' his legs grvg out' Mexico enlos n toiir tJniTos,l.b""i; thetearsthatnowdropfromt.i,eyu,,drophimontothesoilofhisfreedom.

Leslie Nazario

Libertad

Otro día perdida en el oscuro. Desperté después de otra noche sin soñar, no tengo sueños, tras días y días debajo de la cubierta en este hogar de la muerte. Es mejor que mis sueños mueran.

Estuve muy feliz antes, con mi esposo, y mis niños. Teníamos todo, hasta que llegó el barco. No podía pensar que era real. Mientras todos mis compañeros huyeron, me quedé con mis hijos, los calmé con cantos mientras mi bebé, recien nacido, comía de mi pecho sin saber. Entraron tres hombres, muy altos y feos, con caras de horror. Olían a humo y a sudor. Me quitaron mi bebé y me llevaron al barco.

¿Y no luchaste? Me pueden podrian preguntar.

-“Sí señores” es mi respuesta.

Batallé como un gato que se iban a ahogar. Usé mis uñas para rasgar su piel y traté de hundir mis dedos en sus ojos, pero no valío la pena. Con su mano comó una piedra, uno de los hombres me pegó tan fuerte en la cabeza, y el oscuro me comío, ya me ha comido totalmente.

-Sí hasta este momento, pienso en mis hijos. Este pensamiento es mi única salvación. Quiero vivir para oler sus cabellos otra vez, para besar sus labios y morder sus orejas. Las cosas más simples en la vida han llegado a ser mi única razón para sobrevivir.

Hace dos días me enfermé. El viaje empezó con doscientos de nosotros, y creo que al menos han muerto cincuenta. No puedo ver, pero sé que el hombre junto a mí con quien comparto los grilletes murió. Nada con vida puede sentirse tan frío. -Creo que tengo fiebre. No se lo he dicho a nadie. No sé cuánta gente pueda oirme. La fiebre me estaba ganando. Realmente, mi existencia entre este mundo del fiebre fue mejor que la realidad.

Salí del barco, y podía ver al sol. El mundo estaba tranquilo y desde mí perspectiva, casi podía volar.

El agua me pegó como la mano de mi captor. El frío me rodeaba, y en unos minutos acepté mi destino.

-¿Puedes ver a mis hijos, no te parecen perfectos? Laura Cabrera Mi Telenovela

-¿Qué está pasando aquí?

-¿De qué estás hablando? ¿Cómo supiste que estaba aquí? ¿Para qué viniste?

-El cómo lo supe no viene al caso. Lo que importa es que quiero saber que haces aquí.

-Pues no lo ves, o que lo quieres oír de mi boca.

-Tú sabes bien que te prohibí venir, te has burlado de mi autoridad. Y para el colmo te

encuentro con ese bueno para nada. En este momento agarras tus cosas y no vamos

-Yo no me voy. Yo lo amo. Yo ya no quiero vivir en esa casa ni contigo.

-No te estoy preguntando si te quieres ir o no, te estoy diciendo que te vas a ir.

-No entiendes que ya estoy harta de ti, por eso me fui de la casa.

-Mira niñita (a punto de golpearla)...

De repente se escucha una voz muy lejana. ¡Yaya!.. ¡Yaya!..!Laura! Que quieres. Ay

Laura no puede ser posible, como te embobas en esta telenovela, híjole en verdad no tienes abuela. Era mi mamá que me regañaba por estar viendo la telenovela sin moverme del sillón y sin parpadear. Con la voz más dulce, le conteste, “ay mamá no te enojes.” De igual manera le pregunte, ¿necesitas algo? No, me contestó. Yo muy enojada le dije que entonces para qué me interrumpe que no ves que se está poniendo buenísima la telenovela. Con una voz burlona y sorprendente, me dice, ándale pues te dejo con tu telenovela, que al cabo te dejará en suspenso hasta el lunes.

Las telenovelas han sido parte de mi vida desde mi niñez. Recuerdo que en las mañanas; en los tiempos donde todavía no iba a la escuela, después de ver las caricaturas, se llegaba el tiempo de ver las telenovelas de día. Después nos poníamos mis primos y yo a recoger la casa mientras que mi abuelita se ponía a cocinar la cena. Después de cenar, de nuevo estábamos enfrente de la televisión, pero ahora no eran sólo mis primos mi abuelita y yo pero también eran mi abuelito, mis tías y el resto de la familia. Ahora que lo pienso, las telenovelas en una forma alguna, hacen que aunque sea por una hora la familia pueda estar junta, que se unan y que puedan comunicarse entre todos, aunque sea sobre lo que esta pasando el la telenovela. Ahorita que recuerdo esto me da tanta risa, porque siempre andábamos corriendo ayudándonos los unos a los otros, mientras que antes estábamos sentados viendo las telenovelas. Pero no piensen que estoy en contra de esta herencia que me ha pasado…risa, al contrario les doy gracias que me lo han heredado.

La situación donde, la telenovela no solo me tiene todo el capitulo en suspenso, pero además me deja en suspenso al final del episodio y tengo que esperar hasta el día siguiente. En verdad es algo para volverse loca. Me da mucho coraje que me dejen a medias. Pero lo bueno es que el coraje solo me dura un ratito y después estoy emocionada y no puedo esperar a ver el episodio del día siguiente. De igual manera hago teorías de lo que puede pasar en el episodio que darán mañana o muchas ocasiones hasta el lunes. El suspenso, es uno de los sentimientos que me hacen estar más pegada y como dice mi mamá más embobada a la telenovela y de igual manera querer entender el porqué lo que está pasando en la telenovela esta pasando y lo que va pasar después.

La emoción es otro de los sentimientos que siento al ver una telenovela. La emoción de ver cuando los personajes principales están a punto de besarse o están a punto de declararse el amor que se tienen. Ay que emoción ciento de sólo pensar en un capítulo de mi telenovela favorita donde sucede esto. Me da ganas de ir a mi casa y ponerme a verla. Al mismo tiempo, cuando veo una situación tan romántica como esta, de una forma alguna me encuentro adentro de la telenovela, como si yo fuera uno de los personajes y fuera parte de al historia de la telenovela.

Muchas veces me siento como si estuviera en mi propia telenovela. Como si eso me estuviera pasando a mí. Al mismo tiempo, como me gustaría que eso me pasara a mí y que así fuera el amor en realidad. El amor y las relaciones que hay en las telenovelas son como cuentos de hadas, donde hay buenos y malos donde hay conflictos pero a la larga se arreglan y los personajes viven muy felices o colorín colorado este cuento se ha acabado.

Desgraciadamente es el problema que tengo cada vez que miro una telenovela por las tardes, es el estar en mi propio mundo. Hallarme en un mundo donde sólo existe la telenovela y yo. Donde nadie puede entrar ni salir, aunque ese mundo sólo dure una hora por día, para mí esa hora es maravillosa. Ese mundo se siente como si yo estuviera viviendo mi propia telenovela.

En verdad, si mi vida es mi propia telenovela. Lo que yo vivo y mi vida, es obvio y por supuesto que no es igual como la vida del personaje de una telenovela, pero al igual que en una telenovela en mi vida hay ricos, pobres, malos, buenos, y conflictos. Mi vida o mi telenovela, no es tan drástica; bueno eso pienso yo, como lo es una telenovela. Para mí en lo personal, una telenovela describe y le deja saber a la audiencia las situaciones que hay en el mundo, al igual que lo que mucha gente tiene que experimentar en sus vidas. Puede ser que la gente sepa de estas situaciones, pero las telenovelas lo hacen sin pelos en la lengua y sin querer dañar a nadie.

De vez en cuando, me pongo a pensar que sería si te repente llega un hombre apuesto, guapo, bueno a mi vida; así como pasa en las telenovelas. ¿Qué haría yo en ese momento?

¿Tendría que pasar por las mismas cosas que se pasan en la telenovela? Estas preguntas, al igual que muchas más son las preguntas que me hago no solo durante el tiempo cuando estoy mirando las telenovelas pero después de analizar lo que ha pasado hasta ese momento en la telenovela.

De igual manera, me pregunto que si en verdad hay personas en la vida real que han vivido una vida o una telenovela de igual manera. Pero la verdad para mi no es tan importante saber si hay o no una persona en el mundo que ha vivido una telenovela. Para mi lo mas importante es que yo pueda sentirme parte de una telenovela, como si yo estuviera viviendo en ese mundo, como si yo estuviera adentro de la telenovela en ese momento. Yo sé y no me importa que ese sentimiento me dure un minuto o una hora, lo que si se es que lo viviré de nuevo el día siguiente cuando mire el siguiente capitulo o al momento de empezar otra nueva telenovela.

Además de los sentimientos que tengo al ver las telenovelas, también me pongo a pensar que las telenovelas reflejan las situaciones del país donde se grabo la telenovela. En otras palabras, yo pienso que las telenovelas dan un toque de historia y cultura de no solo los países pero de las personas de ese país. Al pensar esto también me pregunto que si así es como las personas de ese país viven y si lo que se ve, es parte de su cultura. Los paisajes que se usan en las telenovelas, muchas de las veces son lugares turísticos hermosos del país donde hicieron la telenovela. Al mismo tiempo esos lugares dan la sensación y la esperanza de poder ira a visitarlos un día.

Las telenovelas son parte de la cultura hispana en los Estados Unidos, porque de alguna forma, tienen la fuerza de hacer que las familias se unan y puedan compartir tiempo juntos.

Como las telenovelas son vistas en las tardes, ese es el tiempo perfecto para hacer algo entre familia, porque es cuando los padres llegan de trabajar y los niños no solo llagan de la escuela pero también han terminado su tarea. Cuando yo llegaba de la escuela, mi abuelita me decía que si no terminaba mi tarea no podría ver mi telenovela favorita, así que yo hacia todo lo posible para terminar la tarea antes de que empezara la telenovela. Los Estados Unidos también tiene sus propias telenovelas, pero la gran diferencia que hay entre las telenovelas latinas y las de los

Estado Unidos es que; las telenovelas latinas duran pocos meses y son vistan en la mañana y en las tarde, sin embargo las de los Estados Unidos, duran muchos pero muchos anos y solo se ven en las mañanas. Esas son las razones por lo cual pienso que las telenovelas hispanas les dan la oportunidad a muchas familias de pasar tiempo juntos, aunque sea una hora o dos o tres. De igual manera, les da la oportunidad de poder recordar los viejos tiempos de sus países y ver a sus países.

Como se pueden dar cuenta, las telenovelas no solo han sido parte en vida desde mi niñez, pero también lo ha sido para toda mi familia. Hoy en día, los pequeños de la familia siguen los pasos de los grandes. Ellos también miran las telenovelas y si los adultos de olvidar de la hora que es, ellos rápidamente grita…!Ya empezó la novela! Yo miro esto como uno de los tantos recuerdos bonitos que tengo y que podré decir sobre mi familia y mi niñez. También me siento muy feliz de poder compartir algo con mi familia aunque este lejos de ellos por estar en la

Universidad. Pero aunque este en la Universidad, un secreto que tengo es que todavía hago tiempo entre tareas y estudiara para poder ver mis telenovelas favoritas.

Y esta es mi telenovela  MI SANGRE ANTIGUA

Los parpados de mi corazon aprenden el no dormir. Mi abuelita Dolores me cepilla el cabello entre dos mundos. La ternura con su olor de barro mojado calma las alas del tiempo invitando el eco eterno de mi sangre antigua a danzar por mis venas. La noche con su vestido de almendra toma asiento y le echa lena al fuego. Abuelos, Tata, con que hilo dulce me atan a tantos mundos?

Aparece la manana con sus dientes de bunuelo. A veces me saluda con un dia de cansancio absoluto,arrastrando los pies de plomo enfrente de mi casa.. Como le hare? Abuelos, Tata, un

retono nuestro con ojitos de agua –hija de la tierra y madre luna- lagrimea los hechizos de la vida.

No entiende la pobreza material que huele a injusticia enmascarada y la encarcela entre sus

telaranas.

Que puedo ofrecer? Tambien hay mananas de golondrinas que tocan su tambor al compas del movimiento ancestral. Amanece el dia chispoteando confetti-nuestro retono pequeno -carita indigena descansa su cabezita en mi pecho…. por ahorita esta a salvo. Compartimos una taza de

Nescafe calientita con galletas de animalitos. Consuelo sencillo y fuerte que habla verdades alumbrando las almas humildes. Se teje la vida momento a momento creando lo que sigue. Las

manos trabajadoras de mis abuelos y maestros aparecen –curan las heridas saladas , barriendo los obstaculos infinitos Gracias por mi sangre antigua y las trensas con liston. Maestros que viven entre los mundos flotantes sigan susurrando sus consejos de sudor y copal para que nuestros hijos tambien reconozcan su fuerza. Las lunas pasaran y estos pequenos seran las raices del arbol eterno de la vida. A Losing Garne

Irve been to wtrere you think you want to be' I've seen things you wouldn't want to seet Vanity turned to calarnity, ncirar look at me'

once wEIs a ghetto hero, I accor:ht balance' Nd,/ I ask trre c.o. (correctional officer) for my And all I hear is zero. r renember the rncneyr carsr parties, and girls-t. ttow r'm in prison aira *v tarnify can't pay the bills' I would havl give my life for the hood' T" h";; *V *^ hcrnia snitctr on rp can't be r:nderstood, vou woufa *tink ttre hood would feel my Pain' But they stiIl ride with him' hthat a shame'

You rnight think it won't happen to you' end that your honies will" stay tnre' Take notes on vtr,at I saY' It's a losing gane and one day you wiII pay'

Claudio DeHerrera Huerfano County Correctional Center 2008

Do You FeeI My Pain?

When I was a kid r^dth nobody hqne to love nre, f put on a mask and called it Bea-Nut-D. When f got older I was blessed with a family, But v*lat I put then through was straight insanity. I r^rouldn't ccne hqne for days, My excuse was crine pays. Do you feel my pain? I was beat and neglected as a child, So I grew up confused and wild. I ended up putting hands on my wife, She stuck around even if it meant her life. I $ras rpan to my daughter, I loved her but didnrt knovr hovr to be a father. Do you feel my pain? f didn't have cloths to go to school, So slanging crack for money became the thing to do. Playing a losing gafip, Putting my family through all the safire. Do you feel my pain? fhey do! Cl-audio Dellen:era Trinidad Correctional Facility 2009 Rernenrbering Hovr To O:!z

frcrn my eyes' Itts been a long tine since tears fell H".r" ttt"V dried up er is it just a disgnrise'

No dor:bt Irm full of hurt inside' il.rt i can't renember the last tinre I cried' I desperately seek the Lord wittr aII my heart' feel I was cursed fron the start. stirr:i "rt"i. I try to be strong for you- my familyt i'* Sotty r put you through this insanity' wife' I love You Lorett'a, !V - r"i-v""i happiness-rr11 lay down my life' ne to your own If it neans you'Il leave 9o .aY1 pray' moch i;tt fovL you is vrhat I'11 Just know no., "t""ys I love Gloria, mY daughter, w"ttti"g can flep ne frqn being her father'

She will alwaYs be daddY's babY girl' Our love is unconditional' Right novr I feel so lonely and far away' Idon,thavenobodytotalktosotdon'thaveanythingtosay. Itriedsoharrjltokeepthingsfrcrrrgoingwrong' And to keep our relationship strong'

Mv heart is fuII of sorrcrrr . ,---^ ^-^+r i#il"-r-a""i t knovr if you want to share anothertcnKrrrow. So ncrr I renrenrber horr to cryt i-"unit stop the tears frcn pouring out of my eyes'

Claudio Delletrera ff""tfa"" County Correctional Center 2008