My mother was neither cradle nor lap
She was a sword, an arrow, an argument
Beautiful, sharp, and feline
Neither refuge nor anchor, my mother was a battle
Texts by Ximena Escobar de Nogales
My mother was neither cradle nor lap
She was a sword, an arrow, an argument
Beautiful, sharp, and feline
Neither refuge nor anchor, my mother was a battle
We load the car with your grief and mine
Two suitcases and the guitar
A brie aux truffes set the disturbance in motion
Money, power, titles, aesthetics, social class, or eloquence, never impressed her
A dogbituary
It would be a voyage, she said
The destination: a more genuine, examined, less fragmented, version of myself
Debía tener 11 o 12 años, vivíamos en Cali. Era un domingo y necesitaba una cartulina para una tarea del colegio.
Where does the mind disappear to when bad news strikes us?
Crush lavender seeds in your fingers, and then, eyes closed, take a deep breath into your hands
You press your warm body onto me
I am still half asleep
My body too desires you, but not yet
Hoy vi a la viejita que llevo adentro
Determinada, atrevida se asomó sin escrúpulos
“We will witness the arrival of modernity,” my father said as we left the house.
When I’m by her side, I slip back into my 7-year old me
Melba became a pampered toddler; mothered by plenty, mothered by none
Sufrí de depresión por más de un año y me recuperé completamente. Estas son algunas de las cosas que hice que me ayudaron; tal vez algunas de ellas le sean útiles a otros, por eso las comparto: