Libertad Excerpt

Libertad

PART ONE

Dump Dwellers

Caught in a maze of high white walls
that keep others from seeing them
salvage through garbage
and live like rats.

Los Niños del Basurero

Atrapados en un laberinto de paredes blancas
para que otros no vean
que buscan desechos en la basura
y viven como ratas.

MARBLES

Today is a good day, bringing
little surprises out of the trash,
their hints of sparkles, calling
for me to rescue them.

And I do.

I kneel next to them, pulling
them from garbage graves, rubbing
crusted dirt off their glass
until they gleam, hiding
them safe in my pocket,
freeing
them from the garbage
forever.

GAMES

We make a small sanctuary,
Antonio, Esvin, and I,
where we can escape
for a short while
before dark.

My little brother Julio perches
on the edge of our broken couch, watching
us play.

When I win the shot,
I dance and sing an old song
of Papi's, stirring
faded memories from
a longtime ago.

Julio laughs and sings with me.
He bounces on the couch,
its music mixes with mine,
so I jump up too,
coils beneath us, squealing
a Quetzal's song.
I take his hands in mine,
and pretend we're flying
like birds.
Beautiful and free.

"Libertad," Antonio tells me,
"you act like street clowns."

"We aren't just street clowns," I shout.
"We're Clown Kings!"
I flip Julio and catch him, imagining
we're performing with Papi
on a street in America.

En América…

But when the sun
slips behind the mountains,
I'm brought back here.

We collect our marbles, rushing
for the safety of our homes.
Tonight, even the moon is
afraid
to show its face
on our dump.

HOME

I shiver and pull Julio closer,
making certain the thin blankets on our single mattress
cover him too.

A breeze flaps the tattered curtain
that separates our shack into two rooms
and I see flashes of the other side:
a worn photograph of Papi taped on the pressboard wall;
the wrinkles of Mami's face lit
by the glow of the lantern;
her eyes - glossy and semi-focused;
her elbow resting on the dirty table beside
an opened bottle of cobbler's glue;

her hand gripping a wrinkled piece of paper;

Papi's address

Her long calloused fingers wrap
around it like the dying branch of a tree
clings to its last leaf.

"Un día, Libertad,
one day," she whispers.
"He'll come back for us
and we'll be
free."

My Freedom - Mi Libertad

Mi Libertad
All I can think of
It fills up my restless nights,
tastes sweet in my mouth.

Mi Libertad
Over the mountains
and far beyond the borders
of a displaced life.

Mi Libertad
Away from the dump.
North to where my Papi lives -
the United States.
When I was Seven

Five years ago, one cold evening came to our mountain village
bringing with it brightly woven blankets and mi papi
home from the coffee fields
with his cousin's address scrawled on a piece of paper.

Five years ago, one cold evening, Papi told us he was leaving
to work in America, and the chill from outside
seeped through our wooden walls,
and wriggled under my blanket, prickling
my body with its icy fingers.

Five years ago, one cold morning left our mountain village
taking with it mi papi,
with dreams of someday returning
to us.

Five years ago, one colder morning came to our mountain
village,
bringing with it soldiers hidden behind masked faces, rattling
rifles slung over their shoulders, and we left for here,
Guatemala City,
with hopes that someday Papi wouldn't return
to THEM.

DREAMING

Early morning light
creeps
into our ravine.

It caresses Julio's cheek
like a mother's gentle touch,
and he smiles.

I wonder if a lost memory is sneaking
into his dreams.
A memory of Papi
and music from his marimba.
Or the fresh smells of coffee fields,
and clean air in the mountains.
But I know these memories sneak into
my dreams.

Not Julio's.

Julio only remembers
the dump.

But then sometimes I think
not knowing what
could be
is better,
because he doesn't
long for everything he's
missing.

JULIO

I brush his hair from his face,
and sing, "Julio, Julio,
Wake up,
Despiértate,
mi Julio."
and tickle him awake.

He jumps and races through the door laughing-
always laughing, mi Julio.
I chase him and put on his hat.
Today the sun won't beat down
on his head while
he works
and make him sick.

WHEN DEATH KNOCKS

The sky is black with vultures,
circling and diving for the burger
I found for our breakfast.

They hover over Julio
like death,
knocking at his door,
and waiting for him to answer.

I beat them back with a stick
and throw my food away from him.
Vultures swarm for it,
leaving Julio to eat in peace.
But instead of eating,
he breaks his half in two
and gives me one,
so death doesn't knock
at my door.

I love him,
my brother,
Julio.

Yo lo adoro,
mi hermano,
Julio.

SCHOOL

Esvin and his brother Mica pass us
as we work to collect sellable garbage,
with thousands of others.
Esvin's and Mica's book bags bouncing
off their legs as they races
for school.

Antonio laughs, "Look at them run, Libertad.
That school is for babies. You and I, we work
like real men."

He kicks at the dirt as he turns
to climb a mound of garbage.
When he thinks I'm not looking
he stares back at Esvin and sighs.

I know we're both longing
to run to school with them, swinging
our book bags from side to side,
like I used to in my old village.

But today the only thing we're swinging
is our metal bars, poking
through heaps of garbage, looking
for cardboard to sell.

No strangers, from America are sending
money for us,
and with our Papis gone,
we have to be
here.

Julio is only seven,
but he's smart enough to go
to school.
He already knows how to
Separate the garbage
into different piles.

ASKING MAMI

I ask Mami about sending
Julio to school.
She says, "We need him working,
so we can have enough money to eat.
He can't go.
When Papi comes back for us
Julio will go to school in America."

But Papi is taking too long,
and it'll be too late
for Julio.
Maybe, if I can save
enough money,
I can show Mami that
Julio can go to school now.

MUSIC

Julio yanks at something.
The last of the garbage
clutching it gives way.
He tumbles
backward,
crashing, plinking, clanging
down a hill of trash
toward me.

"Look," he says, wide-eyed,
arms stretched out, carrying
his prize.
"Can you play it, Libertad?"

A marimba.

I don't know
how it got into our pile
or how it came to find us,
but I'm grateful,
and with shaking hands
I take it.

Some of the keys are cracked,
but I know
I can make it come to life.

I pull away mallets attached to the sides
and tap out a tune Papi taught me
long ago…
hace mucho tiemp.

Julio jumps and skips
around me, making
his own kind of dance.

Mami takes his hands
and dances with him,
humming, spinning, swaying
to my music.

For a while,
I dream we're back
in our village
and Papi is here.

But then our reality crashes
with sounds from a rumbling plow.
It pushes our memories into the gorge
with the noise of falling garbage
and we know we must
get back to work.