The Moment I Tell My Mother of the Diagnosis
a mother’s symptom: martyrdom
también debo
tener eso multiple
sclerosis
absolutamente
those are her first words:
guilt with an attempt
at understanding
my spine shudders with scars
& apprehension
i tell her: no
imposible
there were no symptoms
& it would be in
remission by now
she’s lived through 70 suns
panapens removed from her ovaries
the whole root del árbol de la vida
pulled without a sign of daughters
she’s lived through 70 years
in welfare lines dressed in
red lipstick y un grito que podría arrasar
any family court just to raise me
70 ciclos
of mistranslations y sospechas a life hyper-vigilant
& dead mothers in her dreams
she tells me:
¿qué es la remisión?
¿cuál es la razón?
¿a donde cojate esto
¿Qué hiciste?
those are her next words for me:
blame
i’ve lived through 32 years
of night terrors & disembodied limbs floating
around the room fear as if
my body would fail despite the word:
why?
i’ve lived through
smoke infected fire escapes & roach infested
pancakes of fried chicken still bleeding
from the bones
shame for this body por millones de razones:
my gender my small kidney my diminishing vision
my divergency my exhaustion my weakening leg
my numb hand qué clumsy soy yo
lo digo:
that isn’t how it works
& they don’t know why
y nunca sabrán por qué
all i know is that every six months
i’ll go in for treatment
until i am 60
si vivo a eso
Isa Guzman is a poet & Brooklyn College MFA graduate from Los Sures, Brooklyn. Dedicating her work to the hardship, traumas, & political struggle within the Boricua Diaspora, especially the LGBTQ+ (Boricuir & Trans) communities within it. Isa helps lead several projects including: The Titere Poets Collective, La Esquina Open Mic, & La Cocina Workshop! She has published her work through several magazines, including The Acentos Review, The Poetry Project (Footnotes), Public Seminar, & also appears in several anthologies, such as The Breakbeat Poets Vol. 4: LatiNext. Follow her @Isa_Writes.