La Ventana en mi Casa

La Ventana en mi Casa

BY Nallely Ochoa Olivares

When will the light shine on us again?

We reach the dew-stricken fields

Before the sun’s rays reach us

We pray after dark 

In a room littered with candles 

The artificial bulb 

Buzzes above 

As bills, we can’t understand 

Litter the kitchen table 

Along with embroidered cloths,

Leftovers, and the pan dulce 

We bought last Friday 

Our children don’t speak 

Our language 

But in their blood 

Flows the sorrow 

of their ancestors 

Making their skin 

A certain brown 

That does not let them forget 

Or their hair 

A certain black 

Of the ashes that haunt us 

But our love is expressed 

With plates of cut fruit, 

Gifts mentioned long ago, 

And grand, loud parties 

Because the stress 

Does not allow us to say 

“I love you.” 

A certain trauma rooted deep

Centuries of being exploited,

Overworked, underpaid, 

Brings us a certain fatigue

That makes our bones creak 

So when the sun finally 

Basks us in its tender light 

And makes our skin buzz with warmth

That is when we will relax 

We will laugh, 

As we braid ribbons 

Into our children’s hair 

Or place a rosary 

On their chest 

And finally, 

We will say, 

“I love you”