Humedad - Jelisa Gonzalez

Como suena el motociclo

while I rock back and forth on la mecedora. 

Quizzically, I imagine what it would have been like 

to grow up in a humid climate,

the sweat dripping from my breasts. 

I imagine the 

Trujillo massacres of my haitian brothers and sisters, 

por pronunciacion de perejil,

under the guise of nationalism.

All the institutions,

parts of eras

unlived by me. 

How the beauty standards I see 

conversing with Lola,

su pelo en un tubi 

attempt to be free.

How I would have grown up 

under the plancha 

pelo sin riso 

pelo fried and larguisimo.

How I would be unattainable still

con la gordura 

because all men are for 

are the BBL slim thick-skinny but not too skinny- thickness.

I would have grown up

with more culture,

buena cholesterol,

maybe closer to mami,

meno anxiedad,

con meno miedo.