Shownotes
Wednesdays on One Poem Only are Handpicked, a new feature where I go deeper into the poem of the day and discuss what made it stand out to me.
“Hija de tu madre.”
Elisha Fernandez
“Eres hija de tu madre.”
“You are your mother’s daughter,” is a phrase I heard growing up,
from strangers,
family members,
friends,
most repeated by my own mother.
I wanted to claw myself out of my skin
Panicked by the implication
That I did not belong to myself
I could not crawl above my station
Limited to the constraints and expectations people thrust on me,
Like a hermit crab forced to stay in a shell too-small,
No room to grow or become my own person
Keeping me trapped against the wall, a doll stuck between pavement,
yearning to bloom
My achievements, struggles, and experiences
No longer my doing, the credit stripped away
Loneliness taking over as I stay, rewatching the events of the past twenty-some years
Through the lens of someone else’s existence
It was so unbearable
I eventually avoided the topic altogether
It felt easier to snip the thread we twined, connecting us,
so that I could cement my own self, my own role
In your mind, in mine
The separation frayed us both,
But I learned that it was healthier for us to co-exist
Side by side, free from the harm we imposed on each other
Than to be attached at the hip
And that time apart
Gave me the space to see you, truly,
To take you down from the pedestal,
To get to know you fully
I think I’ve accepted that I am my mother’s daughter,
In the sense that it’s true,
I inherited her stubbornness and pride,
Her love for words and witty sayings,
Her craving to be important, the hunger to be accepted,
I inherited her precision and wide-eyed curiosity
Beyond the superficial, it’s hard to admit that while she birthed me and learned me,
she also weaved her own insecurities and doubts into the fabric of my being
She tried, and failed, to love me in her way, staining me with blood and tears and loathing
She imparted her wisdoms and her wrongdoings,
I see the person I could’ve become, had circumstances been different
I may have been born in her image,
But I stitched myself into the likeness of what I desired
I became unraveled;
A bolt of cloth to gather anew
I hemmed the tattered edges, patched up the holes,
And threw out the patterns I had always followed
Soy hija de mi madre,
But can’t I also be my own?
Can’t I exist
Without relinquishing to the image of
An identity I don’t claim
And acknowledge
That I am also my mother’s daughter,
In the sense that I mothered myself
More from Elisha Fernandez ↓
Watch Handpicked Wednesday
A new feature where I go deeper into the poem of the day and discuss what made it stand out to me. Watch on Instagram at @rembrandts.cure.
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Two poems. One poet. Let the words keep moving.
