I KNOW HIM

When I look at him today,

I see a stranger

in a frail, tired body,

who over and over

wrings his hands.

But he’s not a stranger,

I know him,

I know his likes & dislikes,

I know what his dreams were

and what heights he reached.

I was there.

Yes, I know him, but

his eyes tell me he’s not there,

he doesn't know me,

he is gone.

His look provokes regret

of all the moments I wanted to say

I love you, but let them go by,

moments that can’t be undone,

that cause a hounding guilt

and profound sadness because

after so many years of

enjoying each other, of

embracing each other’s differences,

of letting go or holding tight,

today he doesn't know who I am.

But,

it doesn't matter.

I remember,

I know him,

I still love him.

So I smile, take his hand in mine

as I whisper my name in his ear

one more time.

Mildred Santiago © 2014

IDENTITY

From September 15th to October 15th we celebrate the National Hispanic Heritage month.  As a Latina living in Leesburg, FL, I was invited to present at the Leesburg Public Library some of my poems that connect with my heritage. Even though I have a few that fit the theme, I decided to write a new poem that will serve as the basis of my presentation and which I am sharing with you today.  Just in case you are in the neighborhood, the presentation will be on Sept. 30th from 10 AM to 11 AM, it would be great to see you there.

                                                                           Identity

                                                                   To know who we are,

                                                                   is to know our history.

                                                                   To understand why we speak the way we do,

                                                                   to decipher why we dance the way we do,

                                                                   and why we love the way we do, or

                                                                   why we eat the foods we do,

                                                                   is to know our roots.

                                                                   I dug here and there trying to find my roots

                                                                   and uncovered them

                                                                   in the Caribbean island of Boriquén,

                                                                   at one time the land of the brave,

                                                                   home to the Taino people.

                                                                   Peaceful, hospitable, generous, soft-spoken people

                                                                   who lived in harmony, united by language

                                                                   and spiritual beliefs, all within a social order.

                                                                   A distinct culture, I would say,

                                                                   certainly not savages.

                                                                  Peace & tranquility abruptly ended

                                                                  when the Spaniards arrived in search of riches.

                                                                  The placid, brave people fought & resisted

                                                                  but soon were ravaged by those who claimed

                                                                  superior stance and culture.

                                                                  The Taino men were decimated, the women

                                                                  forcefully taken by white Spaniards.

                                                                  Over time a new order, a new society came to be.

                                                                  The hunt for gold and riches ended,
                                                                  another wave of Spaniards settled the island.

                                                                  This time they came to farm and work hard;

                                                                  they married their own and the mestizas too.

                                                                  Their Spanish language dominated,

                                                                  but not all was lost, rather,

                                                                  the ways & doings of two cultures

                                                                  were wondrously, though painful at times,

                                                                  interwoven, slowly

                                                                  moving toward a new world culture.

                                                                 However, the evolution did not end there.

                                                                 The need for laborers was great,

                                                                 sugar plantations were growing, and

                                                                 so it is that free men from the African tribes

                                                                 of Yoruba, Igbo, and Bantu,

                                                                 were brought to the island against their will;

                                                                 free men forced into slavery.

                                                                 Once again, over time &

                                                                 in keeping with the ebbs & flows of life,

                                                                 the Africans too began to marry

                                                                 Taino & mestiza women;

                                                                 another strong culture was

                                                                 now mingling & mixing with
                                                                 the already complex people of Boriquén.

                                                                 It was inevitable, history in the making,

                                                                 the evidence is palpable.

                                                                African cultural practices,

                                                                words & beliefs are integral components

                                                                of our now compounded island nation

                                                                known as Puerto Rico.

                                                               Who am I?

                                                               A product of my interwoven past

                                                               with a language enriched by many &

                                                               a culture, diverse & abounding, that

                                                               makes up the colorful,

                                                               at times complex

                                                               mosaic of my identity.

                                                               I am not Taina,

                                                               I am not Spaniard,

                                                               I am not African.

                                                               I am a fusion of these,

                                                               unique & whole.

                                                               Their roots are in my blood,

                                                               their history imbues my existence.

                                                               I am Puerto Rican,

                                                               I am New York,

                                                               I am a Latina of the Americas.



(c) Mildred Santiago

My Looking Glass

                                                       Sometimes I see my world

                                                       through a glass, a glass of

                                                       Merlot, that is.

                                                       The world seems less complex,

                                                       sweeter & smoother,

                                                       even balanced.

                                                       Other times it’s a glass of

                                                       Pinot Noir.

                                                       Those are the times

                                                       I feel a bit fickle,

                                                       thin skinned & susceptible,

                                                       especially susceptible of those

                                                       who inhabit my surroundings

                                                       by unwarranted association.

                                                       My entire existence pales and

                                                       seems washed out when

                                                       looking through this glass.

                                                      Now, truth be told,

                                                      the glass I enjoy the most

                                                      is the one with Cabernet Sauvignon,

                                                      from Bordeaux of course.

                                                      Its intensity, backbone and

                                                      notable structure infuse courage.

                                                      I especially enjoy the subtle,

                                                      almost imperceptible oak flavor;

                                                      it causes me to feel strong & capable

                                                      of living my life, no matter

                                                      my surroundings or

                                                      the winds of hurricane force or

                                                      the days of grey clouds.

                                                      I stand tall.

                                                     And so it is that

                                                     each day brings with it

                                                     a different glass,

                                                     my looking glass,  for

                                                     my disparate world &

                                                     my distinctive view.

                                                                                               (c) Mildred Santiago

Dreaming and Waiting

So many times I’ve considered

changing my life

just to escape the present.

Perhaps it’s the glitches

of a long day, of

anxiety caused by people,

moments, & boundaries

that will not change anytime soon.

Perhaps I try too hard to

walk ahead of the storm,

dreaming of a new life,

lived with lights on &

straight talk,

no loaded silences,

no time-worn secrets,

no closed doors.

Soon the dream ends &

here I am,

eyes wide open,

living my long days,

biding my time,

waiting….

              waiting.

                                    © Mildred Santiago

The Woman in the Mirror

When I look in the mirror

I see a woman with

expressive, golden brown eyes,

fair skin, & enticing smile.

I see a wife & mother who

has so much love to give.

I also see a professional,

one who works hard &

is climbing the proverbial

corporate ladder.

Then I ask myself:

Why is it that in spite of all

my qualities & achievements,

there are times when thoughts

of unworthiness creep into

my mind and tell me that

I’m not good enough?

It is on those days that I

can only see a person who is

misunderstood, unloved & flawed.

The inner connection is broken,

the dense fog of unworthiness,

creeps in, holds on to me,

tight & unrelenting, causing

feelings of frustration,

anxiety, inadequacy,

almost total breakdown.

The false image of perfection

I try so hard to achieve fades,

self-judgment is harsh.

Then, like the miracle of nature

that dissipates early morning fog

through gentle, warm winds &

a sun that shines strong & steadfast,

I decide to quiet the voices of

self-criticism & censorship,

I decide to listen to my heart,

choosing to dwell on love & self-respect.

The fog lifts.

When I look in the mirror,

once again I see the woman I am;

beautiful inside as reflected outside,

willing to share my love & happiness

with those who see me in the same light,

with those who accept me & my imperfections,

with those who accept my humanness.

Once again, all is well.

.                               

© Mildred Santiago

I Will Survive

     

Sometimes she hid

behind large dark glasses

or wore floppy hats &

sweaters, even if it was hot.

She tried to hide

the black & blues,

the cuts & bruises

from her neighbors’ meddling eyes &

her family’s accusatory questions

until one day,

fear of imminent death forced her

to flee her home, young ones in tow.

For months she had planned,

scrimped & saved for

this decisive moment,

but she waited & waited,

perhaps believing his lies of change,

of never again, of I love you,

only to feel his inebriated fists and kicks

again & again on her body, on her soul.

Now she was convinced,

he will not change,

it will never happen.

Without warning or announcement,

without looking back,

she left on a cold Monday morning.

She left her beautiful house and

all it contained repeating over & over,

I will survive, we need to survive,

there has to be a better life.

And so began a parade of motels,

dirty & dingy cheap motels,

almost as bad as staying home

with him, she thought once,

but her mantra kept her going,

she had to survive,

for herself and her babies.

She struggled to find a job,

sufficient pay for child care,

food & safe harbor.

She bounced from job to job,

from motel to motel,

till one fateful day a helping hand

reached out to her.

The safe harbor home became

her refuge, her children were safe,

she was safe.

Through kindness, understanding &

time her wounds began to heal,

she took back control of her life,

she no longer blamed herself,

she uncovered and reconstructed

her battered self-worth.

Above all, she was able to

let go of him & her past.

She dared to visualize a better life,

it was a life of hard work,

nonetheless, a life filled with

peace & love & satisfaction,

a life worth living.

                                                                                    © Mildred Santiago 2014

I WONDER

From time to time

I wonder how it feels

when you look at

the young man or woman

standing before you,

so self-sufficient,

so well balanced,

living a life filled with

satisfactions & successes.

You probably think back

to what now seems

long ago and remember

the sleepless nights,

the incessant crying,

the fevers, the cuts & bruises,

the doctor’s crowded office.

Too soon those times were replaced

by a rebellious stranger;

cries of unfairness, tyranny or

dictatorship flourished

from one you did not recognize.

Then, not soon enough,

those moments also passed

and like the caterpillar,

your progeny metamorphosed

into someone you actually like &

can talk to, even get along with.

Oh the grandeur of life’s passages:

education, disappointments,

losses & successes

                                                have obliged this beloved one

                                                to become more understanding,

patient & responsible.

And so, dear parent,

when looking at him or her

who is a part of you,

yet, oh so different & unique,

                                                I wonder…

         I wonder how it feels.….

                                                                                                            © Mildred Santiago

New Mother

  

Oh new mother, young professional,

long hours, days, and years of studies rewarded.

Oh young, hardworking executive

who generously contributes to the household budget;

new mortgage, new car, college loans, hospital bills,

daycare, credit cards, and more.

Oh dear mother, newly minted young mother,

filled with love and remorse,

shrouded in sadness, imbued with anger

when each morning you scoop up your child,

oh precious bundle, and deliver her to strangers’ care.

Oh vibrant mother, professional woman, so well prepared,

yet so unprepared as absent mother.

Every morning the floodgates of guilt open and

you drown in self-reproach and doubt,

only to have that burden lifted  every evening

when your smiling little one is in your arms again.

Oh young mother, ambitious executive,

learning how to balance life,

trying hard to rid yourself of feelings of

misdoing and selfishness;

a difficult task when in the presence of

innocent tears.

Dear devoted mother, don’t let remorse assail you,

be kind to yourself,

your child will thrive,

your love will suffice,

your love will transcend.

                                                                                    ©  Mildred Santiago

Sunset Promises

I’ve experienced pain,

I’ve experienced suffering,

yet even in those dark moments,

I’ve experienced love,

a love that has allowed me to

endure pain & sadness,

to live moments

of laughter & joy.

Yes, we all have had our share of

pain & suffering,

yet in the midst of it all,

we need to step back,

and view the entire scene,

like when we admire a painting

by Van Gogh or Monet.

Breathtaking landscapes of sunsets,

in yellow, red, and orange,

reminiscent of endings, of

letting go of our sadness, or

letting go of that we love.

Now, upon a closer look,

even those paintings somehow

reflect a soft, diffused light, somewhere

in the background, that

promises a new day,

perhaps brighter, happier;

a new beginning.

And so it is that

no matter the dark foreboding clouds,

the red, menacing skies,

the descending orange sun,

there is always a light that prevails,

a light sustained by love,

unfeigned & unconditional.

                                                                                                ©  Mildred Santiago

"Where, oh Death, is your Victory?" *

                                    Be it known that

                                    only love owes no dues to death.

                                    Be it known that

                                    those who share selfless love,

                                    those who are brave in the midst of adversities,

                                    those who are kind, even in the face of callousness,

                                    those who are loyal to themselves and to others,

                                    have created a bedrock that defies death and oblivion.

                                    Death is not their enemy,

                                    Death does not distress them,

                                    nor does it cause fear or trepidation in their hearts.

                                    Be it known that

those who love and are loved

                                    never die.

                                    “Where, oh death, is your sting?” *

                                                                                                           

                                                           

            *1 Corinthians 15:55                                                                                            

                                                                                                                                © Mildred Santiago

I Am My Father's Daughter

                                               

                                                My husband tells me that

                                                once in a while, and

                                                even though I perceive

                                                an undertone of reproach,

I thank him.

So many times

that thought

                                                has come to mind,

                                                tinged with nostalgia.

                                                There are things I do,

                                                actions I take

                                                that speak my father’s name.

                                                My love of books, pens &

                                                beautiful writing,

                                                evoke his presence.

                                                My dogged pursuit of issues

                                                that threaten deep-rooted principles,

                                                I learned from him.

                                                I am my father’s daughter,

                                                a thought that makes me glad,

                                                even though at times

it causes me to be sad,

                                                for I know that there will never be

                                                a son or daughter who

will smile and say,

                                                I am my mother’s child.

                                                                                                © Mildred Santiago

Lake Sentinel Article

Dear Readers,

 

Following is an article that appeared in today's Lake Sentinel section of the Orlando Sentinel. Lori Carter summarizes some of my life events and presents my book, Dreams and Realities: A Memoir of Love, Loss and Resilience.  I tried many different ways to copy the article to this blog and was not having success.
My sister, who is more technologically literate than I am, came to the rescue. She took pictures of the article I sent her as a pdf with her Mac laptop and voila here it is! Abi loves her Mac and believes it is better than my PC.  I am thinking about switching, but not too soon. In the meantime, enjoy the article. 

 You may have to increase the font size to enable reading. Rest assured it has nothing to do with age.

Enlightenment

Lightning struck!

                                    Unbound

                                    by high voltage,

                                    I’m learning to love myself,

                                    finding my voice

                                    in an energized,

                                    mood lifting

                                    euphoria

                                    never before experienced.

                                    Inferiority complex,

                                    mind clutter & unwarranted fears

                                    lobotomized,

                                    (lightning has been known

to do that),

                                    now I know,

I finally know,

                                    it’s so clear.

                                    There are no right answers,

                                    just life, my life,

                                    evolving,

                                    transcending.

                       

                                                                        © Mildred Santiago

 

                                    

MUJER LATINA

 

Latina,

Your culture travels with you

wherever you go.

Rich skin,

expressive eyes,

warm smile,

swaying hips,

vibrant colors,

grace & dignity.

.

Latina,

Your culture travels with you

wherever you go.

Ethnic barriers

provoking harsh,

perpetual stereotypes,

sexual innuendos,

harassment,

menial jobs.

Latinas,

This myth,

this old, pervasive myth

needs be overthrown,

fear evicted,

transformation achieved,

belief in the power of self,

respect earned,

milestones attained.

Hermanas Latinas,

be brave,

make your dreams realities.

Paciencia.

Educación.

Persistencia.

                                                                                                                     © Mildred Santiago

hermanas –  sisters                  persistencia – persistence      

paciencia  -  patience                mujer  -  woman