Catarro
My mother is the rock between my teeth and my throat, keeping me from breathing, from speaking.
My mother becomes lodge in my molar teeth— pushing up against my tongue,
Her edges scrape
my mouth, make me bleed
but I swallow to keep from
frightening myself.
Phlegm try to dilute her but she is cancerous, burrowing herself in my cheek.
When I try to bite her down I
see
the
correa
coming
straight
for
my face and
I cower like I am eight again,
holding back the tears of fear, of anger.
I cannot
speakformywordsareherwords and
I. am. afraid. to
speak.
I cannot make my own thoughts
for those are vile and venomous,
desiring to holler words of freedom!
Oh, poetry in a morning sun!
a lover’s kiss against my skin!
My mother is the rock in my belly,
sturdy and sure, yet, unwanted
for her influence appears in a volatile state. When I force myself to
throw up she punches my gut
and keeps me in her choke hold reminding me over and over how pathetic and useless
I am in this world.
So I swallow her down and perhaps,
this is temporary
*The opinions and ideas expressed are solely those of the author, and do not reflect the opinions of The Bronx Brand*
Cynthia Roman is a Bronx Native from the West Bronx. The Bronx has showed Cynthia that if we want to make a difference, we need to be the difference and believe in the community that creates a space that gives power to our young black and brown youth so that they feel capable to make a difference in the world. She speaks out on injustices including food access, housing opportunities and racism. Her favorite part of living in the Bronx is the food! As a Dominirriqueña, her culture is very present in The Bronx.
You can follow Cynthia on Instagram: @92romanchickens
and on her website: cynthiapoems.wordpress.com