By R. Cardenas Colmenares

I cannot afford to build a castle in the sky. No.

The ruins of my castle have been buried for a while now,

so deep in the mud pit.

I can’t get them out.

Not while the world operates this way,
where color pallets are held, cold and sharp,
against our throats
to determine our worth.

What chance do I have to meet those standards?
If my whole race was born
from massive and chronic rape.
I carry violence and trauma in my veins.

They like to call it mestizaje.
What a pretty name!
Is that what they called it
in my native ancestors’ tongue?

¡No!

I can’t unbury my castle,
believe in magic and hope.
Not when the size of my breasts, my waist, and my culo
determine my worth.
And no matter how big or small,
my vagina will always be a disadvantage.

Tell me,
How can I ever win?
Oh, you say to get over it, right? That I shall dig out my castle.

Tell me then,
Where are you looking at me from?

Can you afford to build your castle up above, outside the mud?

Must be nice to look up
and witness the sky glow.

But tell me!

When you look down, if you ever do, what do you see?

Do you see me?

This poem will appear in the anthology Poetry in Performance 52 (CUNY Poetry Festival)