The Calcification of the Dominican Woman
My eager fingers ripped through the skin on my abdomen searching for her in the need of an explanation
She tried to run and hide in shame
She sat in fetal position within my veins
Rocking back and forth pleading for perdon
She got up and ran through my arteries
She thought I wouldn’t be able to see her beneath my feet
Right by the roots of what makes me, me
I heard her breathing
Her chin to her shoulder
And her hair as a veil
Made of the fabric that is loomed from expectations
Silicone smeared through the history she was supposed to save for me
I reached for her chin
Her face a duplicate of mine
I wish I had been there before she let them cut out her shine
Cut out what was rightfully mine
She let them gut her like a fish
They cut through her skin but not her spirit
Which was all I was able to inherit
La Lipo, pa cuando? They demanded a set date
I watched her try to cry, but her tear ducts had calcified
She was barely alive
Just a mirage what what once was
There are no batas in el paraiso
La dama Dominicana agoniza
By her feet I saw the spit of Patria, Minerva and Maria Teresa Mirabal.
She phoned her apology without looking me in the eye
She sat in a room, whose walls were composed of my dreams
Her hips too wide for the throne I had built for her when I grated my achievements with hope,
To impress my ancestors.
I bowed my tiny Taino nose and clenched my jaw that ends in African bembes and pretended I couldn’t smell the rust
Of what was in her but not of her
She was rotting from within
Smelled of bad intentions and hypersexuality in a bubble of puss
Biopoliremos, excuses, and full body fajas
What she did to try to cure her insecurities
Forgetting that I resided in her ovaries
Like she resided in her abuelas
Disrespecting el caldero
Todo en el nombre de el dinero
Y lo que piense el jevo
Y el celebro en zero
I asked God for a fair trial
And we both stood on the scale of justice
I looked her in the eyes as gravity tried to reach for balance between us
And even with her indentations due to calcification, decay and rust
The scale refused to tip in my favor
Her and I are equal.
–O.R.
Oelania Rubino
Oelania Rubino is a mother, writer and an artist. She was born in Dominican Republic and moved to Brooklyn, New York in 1998. She lives life based on sarcasm and failed attempts at lowering her consumption of arroz con pollo.