Yamile Saied Méndez was born and raised in Argentina, but has lived in Utah half of her life. She's a mother of five, lover of futbol, Irish dancing, and books. She's a free lance writer and a MFA candidate at the Vermont College of Fine Arts. Her musings can be read at www.yamilesm
"Our creator would never have made such lovely days, and given us the deep hearts to enjoy them, above all thought, unless we were meant to be immortal."
Monday, April 27, 2015
My short story for 30 Days, 30 Stories is up at the Utah Children's Writers Blog today. To save you the click, here it is. I hope you enjoy it!
Where are you from? they ask.
Your mom’s from here. Your dad’s from there, they say.
I’m from here, from today, same as everyone else, I say.
No, where are you really from? they insist.
I ask Abuelo because he knows everything,
and like me, he looks like he doesn’t belong.
Where am I from?
Abuelo thinks. His eyes squint, like he’s looking inside his heart for an answer.
You come from the Pampas, the open free land, he says.
You’re from the gaucho, brave and strong. From the brown river that cleanses and feeds the land that gives us the grain for our bread, the milk from the cows.
You’re from mountains so high they tickle Señor Cielo’s belly,
where the condor roosts his family
and the jaguar prowls the night.
But you’re also from the warm, blue oceans,
and the elegant palm trees that stretch their fingers to caress the waves.
You’re from a tiny singing frog that calls the island people home when the sun goes to sleep.
You’re from hurricanes and dark storms.
From the copper warriors that rode the ocean and worshipped the silver moon.
You’re from sea explorers, from their courage and their maps.
From two cousins that escaped war in the land that Jesus walked,
From these new shores where they built a home for all of us.
You’re from the grandmothers who look for their grandchildren, waiting, always waiting in a plaza, their white handkerchiefs wrapping the sorrow of their thoughts.
You’re from Pacific and Atlantic, Mediterranean and Caribbean.
You come from the sunshine that lights our path in this world and the rain that washes away our mistakes.
But Abuelo, I ask, Where am I really from?
Abuelo laughs. You want a place?
Then know that you’re from here, he points to his temple,
from my dreams of freedom and books.
He points to his heart,
You’re from here, from my love and the love of all those before us,
those who dreamed of you, free to ask questions and have a future.
You’re from all of us.
I’m not from here, and I’m not from there. I’m from dreams and hopes,
from hard work and love.