Mi Cultura Poem by Javier Zamorano

I long to remember,
when once I held bread and milk
we called it pan dulce,
and you insulted.
I held strong every word
the sterilization of my people
its imprints in the shelves of my home
and in the way I fought against the teachings
of my elders and ancestors.

I left home at a young age and
in time I had become less of myself
and I became more of a defiance.
Like the potter who works with a stubborn wheel,
I spin and I turn
and the smile becomes
sinister in darkened days
I had only lost my way
these are my chapters that can never really be closed.
I recall every time I check off the box
it reads I am the disease,
a disease that bleeds and bleeds
but it will not die.
I have watched myself and others cry
for the seasons and plagues we did not ask for.

I grow and learn inside a system that does not want me,
a system that cannot get rid of me.
I know of warriors who fought so the young
and misguided would not give up on themselves and
that we would not either.

A people whose few voices
speak louder than all the pistols,
then all the rifles,
then all the lies that came with
religious and liberal deceit.
Mothers of modest homes and
powerful resolve to hold on to the fallen warriors and the
beautiful feathers that slipped through
this world under the tutelage
of firelight nights.

I long to remember.....
all of the sacred walks,
the colors and songs that keep
us alive after all these footsteps.
I long to remember and hold on to
mi cultura.