Forms

 

I will lose my forms.
I will face a new terrain every year.
My life will be divided into four seasons
and they will never return as do natural cycles of the Earth.

I was already spring,
and newly invented universes rained upon me.
I lacked ideas, history and tradition.
I received religion, my role, the morality of the father,
and then, my punishment.

Now I am summer,
and I became a woman.
Fear, children, home and guilt are imposed on me
They bury me, they extinguish me, they finish me.
I get up and scream:
let me cry out that this world pains me;
I want my body to be the path of a river,
I long to be the rain, a hurricane,
that I only profess poetry,
and for a weapon, I only have words.

The autumn sun will come
and the world will categorize me.
They will name me: old, deranged, whore.
They will assign me a nation, a race and a culture
and they will turn my identity into my original sin.
But my fight will never be unbreakable
nor will my corporality be the fruit of happy coincidence,
but the reflection of the memories of my ancestors,
of my old pains and the procession of time.
Then, I will be a single individual
and only one woman: Me.

And when the withering winter arrives,
and my existence is the inexorable proof of an unfinished human figure;
I will make a revolution.
My body, the communal bond,
It will be my last territory of freedom.

© 2018 Ana Luisa Muñoz Ortiz