“Hija de tu madre.” by Elisha Fernandez | Handpicked Wednesday | One Poem Only
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 ↓
* @artistaelisha [https://www.instagram.com/artistaelisha/] on Instagram
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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 [https://www.instagram.com/reel/DY3JyZipFfU/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==] at @rembrandts.cure [https://www.instagram.com/rembrandts.cure/].
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