Contradictions
I am a contradiction;
a quiet woman listening to the breathing
of her children as they sleep.
I scream and yell at them when awake.
I’m proud of the knowledge
I’ve gained through the years;
ashamed of my ignorance,
hypocrisies, fears.
I seek a god I know little of;
denying his presence in moments of need.
I cry, “I LOVE YOU!”
in raging desire;
a love that’s illusion
like the god that I seek.
I care about friends for the people they are;
yet despise the people
for the friends they are not.
I endure life
with laughter and tears
believing only
in the truth
of my smile.
Notes:
“Contradictions” was first published in Nosotros Anthology: A Collection of Latino Poetry and Graphics from Chicago, Revista Chicano-Riqueña 5, no. 1 (1977), edited by David Hernández, and subsequently published in It’s Not About Dreams (Erato/Poetry, 2014). It is reprinted with permission of Kayla González Huertas.
This poem is part of the portfolio “Salima Rivera: A Chicago Rican Poet.” You can read the rest of the portfolio in the March 2024 issue.
Source:
Poetry
(March 2024)
