Written by: Omaris Zunilda Zamora
I look around and …
I don’t know where I am anymore
I think I’ve lost my way trying to
find my way.
I’ve danced my way through
looking, wandering, feeling my
eyes fixed, feeling cold
I’m asking about you grandma
“Abuela Negra, ¿qué tú miras?”
“‘Toy bailando.” She says while shifting her blind eyes from side to side
“Bailando con mis ojo’”
I look at her glassy eyes and
I see you momma
I’m dancing in your eyes momma
Look at me momma…
I hear you momma:
“Don trost no body”
“Un merengue siempre te hace sentir mejor
…ponte a bailar”
“I fil so lost in da warl”
I hang up the phone
I can’t see you, but I feel you
working, working
working, working, working, working,
working, working
Fixed frames fabricating dreams
watching novelas, factory fantasies
But what happened to me?
I’m fabricated, framed, formulated
perm-e-ated
into-xi-ca-ted
cause you said I’d be prettier if I lost half myself
here and there
But I’ve lost me, then found you,
and now you’re lost? Looking to me
to find you?
I’m feeling for you momma,
extending my arms in the dark still looking for you
Using my body to feel through the dark for you
writing on the walls of my body to give energy to you
write my body into light to find
your eyes
fixated on factory fantasies
And it’s in that moment during our trip to see the rest of the world
in the art-filled room of the Louvre
that I truly see her
find her,
hear her,
breathing
My eyes are captured by the painting—a classic Monet piece
But her eyes are fixed on the frame her hands once made.