Nautilus II, Volume 20, Spring 2022

Celebrating 20 Years

Poetry and Art by Young Mothers Studying at The Care Center

Nautilus II

Poetry and Art by Young Mothers Studying at

The Care Center

From left to right: Lisbeth Aquino, Jaeleiny Alberto, Ana Rodriguez, Rajine Bridgbasie, Sheynatais Rivera, Marjory Zaik

Nautilus II

Volume 20, 2022

Student Editorial Board

SENIOR EDITORS

Jaeleiny Alberto Laisha Correa

Aaliyah Pereira

EDITORS

Lizbeth Aquino

Rajine Bridgbasie Shadamen Egea Dayana Fuentes Sheynatais Rivera

Staff Editors

Ana Rodriguez, Managing Editor

Marjory Zaik, Assistant Managing Editor

Julie Lichtenberg, Art Editor

Tara Bernier, Contributing Poetry Editor

Charlene Choi, Contributing Poetry Editor

Design and Production Craig Malone

Cover Art

Xiomara Cruz

© 2022 Nautilus II No portion of Nautilus II may be reproduced without permission.

ISSN 1938-5994

Nautilus II was named in honor of Elizabeth Towne, 1865–1960, publisher of Nautilus magazine, a journal of New Thought, which was produced in the building now known as The Care Center.

A Note to Our Readers

At t he Care Center, writing and making art are important parts of our growth and learning. As we take the time to tell our stories and share our feelings and perspectives, we come to understand ourselves better. Sometimes the stories we tell are painful, other times joyful. Sometimes, we are surprised by what emerges when we express ourselves. Sometimes we do not have anyone to talk to, so we put our feelings on paper, and our paper is always there to listen. We learn that we are more powerful than we may have thought we were. Always, we recognize that our creative work is valid, honest, and real.

This year, we have continued to live in a pandemic and have had classes both remotely and in person, managing our multiple responsibilities with grace and dignity.

As editors of Nautilus II, we read and appreciate our classmates’ po ems and artwork. In the process, we identify with other young mothers’ ex periences while learning from those whose stories and points of view may differ from ours. The stories we and our classmates tell do not only have an impact on us, however. By sharing them in Nautilus II, we tell the world who we are and what it is like to be a young mother. Also, by sharing them, we have the precious opportunity to inspire and encourage our readers. Our readers will learn that young mothers are smart, strong, capable, hopeful, and powerful. We are thoughtful, loving, straightforward, brave, and open-minded. We study, write poems and stories, make art, take photographs -- all while caring for ourselves and our children. We are proud of ourselves, and we admire each other.

The work that we have chosen for this edition of Nautilus II reflects all of that about us, and more. We hope that the words and images in this volume not only inspire understanding in our readers, but also encourage them to write their own poems and make their own art.

Sincerely,

Editors

Acknowledgments

Each year the creation of Nautilus II represents a team effort. We would like to thank everyone at The Care Center: the school’s students, staff, and donors for their support. In particular, we thank Anne Teschner, the Executive Director, for her kindness and her belief in us, and Jane Slater, Director of Donor Relations, for making sure that Nautilus II and other projects are possible. We thank all the poetry teachers the Care Center has had in the past twenty years: Tzivia Gover, Kimberly Rogers, Liza Birnbaum, Jessamyn Smyth, Jenny Abeles, Tara Bernier, and Charlene Choi for their contributions to the success of Nautilus II. We thank all our teachers, Marjory Zaik, Hayley Murphy, Steve Bernstein, Julie Lichten berg, Halley Glier, Tara Bernier, Charlene Choi, Brenda Hill, and Léa Donnan for pushing us and not letting us quit.

We thank Jenna Sellers and the counseling staff, Carmen Vicenty and Allison Castillo Rosenblatt, for listening to our problems and help ing us, set goals, problem solve and enhance our lives and the lives of our children. We thank Monica Diaz and Pam Thompson for making sure we go to college and have a great future; and Marjory Zaik, for helping us develop our computer skills.

We are grateful to Aida Diaz and the caring professional daycare staff, Mayra Rivera, Leticia Rodriguez, Jennifer Rivera, Jennifer Vilbon, Milagros Rodriguez, and Zuleyka Rodriguez Nieves and our admin staff, Sue Madamba, Karen MacDonald and Luisa Sarabaez. Without them, we could not be in school. We thank the drivers, who bring us back and forth, Maria Navarro, who keeps the building beautiful, and Martha Spiro, the NP who takes care of our health and the health of our children.

We would also like to thank all the students who offered artwork and poetry for our consideration.

We are grateful to Julie Lichtenberg, the Art Editor, and thank her for being amazing and helping us to be as creative as we possibly can. We thank our creative writing teachers, Tara Bernier and Charlene Choi who encourage us to keep poetry in our lives and help us improve our writing.

Outside of The Care Center, we would also like to thank the Nation al Endowment for the Arts, the Massachusetts Cultural Council’s Youth Reach Program, Wil Hastings, The Poetry Foundation, and the Depart ment of Public Health for funding our literary series.

Craig Malone: thank you for your patience and your good work!

We learn from you, and the journal would not happen without your help. We also want to thank Joan Grenier and the staff at Odyssey Book shop for hosting our annual celebration of Nautilus II, and for welcoming us into their community and being a part of ours.

Finally, we would like to thank our families, especially our children, who are our motivation. They inspire us to move forward and make us stronger.

Contents

A Note to Our Readers / III Acknowledgments / IV

CARE CENTER POETS 2022 / 1

Rajine Bridgbasie, Only Dreaming / 2

Laisha Correa, Where I’m From / 3

Lilly Hennebery, Where I’m From / 4 Daniela Ortiz, Life / 5

Laura Ortiz, Untitled / 6

Laura Ortiz, Untitled / 6

Laura Ortiz, Untitled / 7

Alisha Pabon Zeno, Where I’m From / 8

Widaliz Padilla, Where I’m From / 9

Widaliz Padilla, The Day My Child Was Born / 10

Aaliyah Pereira, Someday I Will Love / 11

Aaliyah Pereira, Six Word Memoir / 11

Aaliyah Pereira, Happiness / 12

Anandi Reeves, I Remember / 13 Carmen Rios, Bleed Into Memory / 14

Carmen Rios, Untitled / 15

Erica M. Rivera, Poem / 16

Sheynatais Rivera, I Remember / 17

Sheynatais Rivera, Anxiety anxiety anxiety / 18 Nicole Uszynski, Impulse / 19

Adamari Valentin, Someday I’ll Love Adamari / 20

Antinique Williams, Without You / 21

Keisha Williams, I Survived Death / 22

HUMANITIES 108 POETS / 25

Rajine Bridgbasie, Butterflies  / 26

Rajine Bridgbasie, The Mystery / 27 Haishaleen Ramos, Witching Hours / 28

Nitzairis Rivera, Parents, Our Guardians / 29

Nitzairis Rivera, Feast / 30

Briana Rouleau, Untitled / 31

BARD MICROCOLLEGE POETS / 33

Christina Cislak, Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall / 34

Priscilla Daniels, I Lost Myself / 38

Stephanie Delgado, Injustice / 39

Nicholle Downey, A Gift = A Flower / 40

Megan Perrault, Untitled / 41

Megan Perrault, Victory / 42 India Russell, Reflection @25  / 44

VISITING AUTHORS / 47

ART PROJECTS

Brenda Perez Gomez / VIII

Rajine Bridgbasie / 24, 32

Alisha Pabon Zeno / 48, 49, 60

Ninoshka Rivera / 49

Sheynatais Rivera / 52

Laura Ortiz / 53

Aaliyah Pereira / 54

Adamari Valentin / 55, 59

Lizbeth Aquino / 55 Daniela Ortiz / 56

Luz Ortiz / 57

Idianny Almanzar / 58

Carmen Rios / 60

CHALK ART AT ROQUE HOUSE / 64 IN THE FIELD / 66

20 YEARS OF NAUTILUS II / 69

Tzivia Gover, A Big Number (2022) / 69

Visiting Authors (2002 – 2022) / 70

Celebrating the First Ten Years (2012)/ 71

Unlocking History (2012) / 72

The Care Center’s Time Capsule Poem by Michelle Luyando Poem by Ashly Figueroa James Foley Remembrance (2015) Tzivia Gover, My Peace in Memory of James Foley / 74

Group Poem: My Peace / 75

SELECTED POEMS 2003 – 2021

Jaeleiny Alberto, Young Mother / 77

Mistie Ayala, Yo Tengo / 78

Makayla Brown, Dark Shadow / 78

Destiney Burgess-Marshall, The Woman from Many Places / 79

Group Poem (2004), From This, I’ll Rise / 80

Jennifer Burgos, My Shadow Said to Me / 81

Valerie Calderon, My Transformation / 82

Brandy Caride, Like a Rose / 83

Xaribel Colon, How to be a Woman / 83

Xaribel Colon, Praise to the Mothers / 84

Suleika Concepcion, En Papi’s House / 85

Jennifer M. Correa, She’s Like a Rose / 85

Jennice M. Curet, My Secret Place / 86

Keyanna Daniels, I Am the Dream / 86

Tashia Davis, Autobiographia Musica / 86

Nancy De Jesus, The Poet / 87

Jelicha Diaz, I Am Black and Yellow / 87

Veronica Diaz, What the Walls

Surrounding Us Said / 88

Mariangelic Felix, Finding My Way / 89

Amnerys Figueroa, My Life / 89

Yasmin Figueroa, Fire / 90

Yasmin Figueroa, Feeling / 90

Misha Figueroa, Thirteen Ways of Looking at Rain / 91

Group Poem (2005), A Poem of Phenomenal Women / 92

Ivy Foster, Lost Emotions / 93

Samantha Gouvan, Praise the Young Mother / 93

Latigra Heckstall, My Heart / 93 Rhondesa Hoheb, Sing the Song / 94

Jessica Jodoin, The Girl in My Mirror / 95

Savanah Johnson, Complaint Poem / 96

Jenifer Jusino, I Am Worthy / 96

Sandra Lopez, My Anger / 97

Franchesca Lozada, Alabanza / 98

Faith Matos, For Women Who Are Hard to Understand / 99

Group Poem (2016), This Room / 100

Justine Mohr, Untitled / 101

Claribel Oquendo, Passion / 101 Maria Ortiz, Don’t Tell Me / 101

Isamari Otero, Someone Taught Me / 101 Maribel Perez, I Wear the Mask / 102

Luz Quinones, Untitled / 102

Helena Richard, Through the Generations / 103

Yuko Richmond, Winter / 103

Brendaliz Rivera, My Pain / 103

Group Poem (2016), Outside / 104

Sharika Rivera, In the Mirror / 105

Sharika Rivera, The Sun Rises / 105

Heisha Rodriguez, Alabanza / 106

Ruth Roman, I Hear Holyoke / 106

Belkis Santiago, Untitled / 107

Christina Santos, I am the Poet / 107

Ashley Scytkoski, These Hands / 108

Viviannett Serrano, The Light / 109

Sylvia Torres, I Miss You Like / 109

Adamari Valentin, The World Calls You Small, and You Talk Back / 110

Angelique Vera, Woman / 111

Group Poems from Isolation (2020), No One Ever Told Me / 112

Brenda Perez Gomez

Poets of The Care Center 2022

Rajine Bridgbasie Only Dreaming

I am only dreaming, aren’t I?

I sentence myself to a life of dying.

My hands are searching for what doesn’t feel real to me. Too many comparisons for my body.

I am a wrecking ball. How do I explain myself and still be misunderstood?

How do I run from the shadow of the thing? I am only dreaming, aren’t I?

Rajine Bridgbasie is a 2022 Care Center graduate and the new mother of Zayn, born in April. She took two college courses while completing her HiSET. She is applying to Bard Holyoke for the fall.

Laisha Correa

Where I’m From Inspired by “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon

I am from pens, from writing, and scribbles.

I am from loyal and loving.

I am from dogs.

(I can be sweet, but I still bite.)

I am from Chicopee, rice and beans and mac ‘n’ cheese.

I am from hurt.

I am from selfish, and I want you all to myself.

Alone, I am from getting by. I’ve lost hope… Numb.

Laisha Correa is from Chicopee and has one daughter. She enjoys art and math.

Lilly Hennebery

Where I’m From

Inspired by “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon

I am from anger from yelling and fighting.

I am from loving and caring.

I am from cats (craving loving attention and wanting to be alone).

I am from a broken home, spaghetti and tacos.

I am from being blamed for things I didn’t do. I’m from useless and wanting to help everyone.

Even now,

I am from a painful life being blamed, but I am strong, helpful, useful, and caring.

Lilly Hennebery is a 2022 Care Center graduate and the mother of two. She took two college classes at The Care Center this winter and spring. She is applying to Bard Holyoke for the fall.

Daniela Ortiz Life

What is life?

What is life if you don’t know what it means.

What is life when you can’t pick yourself up when you’re down.

What is life when you think you have it all.

What is life when you think you can lose it all in a day.

Life is when you wake up every day and do

What you want to do no matter what people say or do.

It’s your life

So live it how you want to.

Daniela Ortiz has a daughter and enjoys art and rowing.

Laura Ortiz Untitled Oceanic constellations recognize sadness

Its beautiful intuition is pain illusion of a somber soul slowly translate my eye

Laura Ortiz Untitled

I am a stranger learning to worship the strangers around me obedient obedient to strangers who don’t care.

Laura Ortiz Untitled

I carry my phone, diapers, charger, cash, chapstick, orange, keys.

On the beach with Gabriel relaxing with a pina colada no stress or responsibilities

Gabriel is older and making sandcastles

The nice breeze, clear blue water. I drive To the beach with my new blue car.

Laura Ortiz is mother to Gabriel. She aspires to become a doula or midwife. Laura enjoys nature, books, and spending time with family.

Alisha Pabon Zeno

Where I’m From (inspired by “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon)

I am from Clorox wipes from sweet tea and brick.

I am from outspoken, hard to focus.

I am from rose bushes (thorns that grip the soul).

I am from bright Ferris wheel, hot dogs and soft pretzels.

I am from the ferry, long walks, and neverending nights. I’m from don’t open the umbrella in the house, it’s bad luck. Even here,

I am from bold, brick, and rose bushes.

Alisha Pabon Zeno is a 2022 Care Center graduate and the mother of two. She completed her first college course, Intro to Latinx Studies, at The Care Center this spring.

Widaliz Padilla

Where I’m From

(inspired by “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon)

I am from Puerto Rico, from a small land and cays.

I am from scenery and parrandeo.

I am from natural sights, fantastic culture.

I am from festivities, alcapurria & arroz junto.

I am from beaches where the sand is hot as soon as you step on it. I am from “Wepa, vente pa’ca a chinchorrear” and “Toma pa’que goze.”

Even here, I am from the island, the one I visit, the place I want to be in.

Widaliz Padilla

The Day My Child Was Born

Thursday

emotional and ominous. Holding my two hands, felt like there was a big change coming. Clueless, many questions and wonders came to my head.

Welcoming my unborn child. See tiny fingers and tiny toes, bright big eyes, cute baby nose, listening to her crying when she came out made me satisfied.

All the lonely nights are over, life is changed now. Love harder, days shorter, nights longer, home happier, the past forgotten, the future worth living now.

Widaliz Padilla is the mother of one. She is from Puerto Rico and would like to return to live there one day.

Aaliyah Pereira Someday I Will Love

Someday I will love waking up early.

Until then, I’ll continue sleeping in.

Someday I will love being annoyed by my kids.

Until then, please leave me alone.

Someday I will love you as much as you do me.

Until then, please be patient with me.

Someday I will love….

Aaliyah Pereira Six Word Memoir

Forever in our hearts, beautiful soul

Her daughter was her twin always.

Her mother is her world forever.

Aaliyah Pereira Happiness

The happiness you have and the happiness you deserve are waiting for you out there.

The happiness I deserve crawls deep inside my skin eager to come into the open.

Happiness is the joy I get to experience while seeing my daughter grow before me.

Aaliyah Pereira is the mother of Jai’lani and is a talented artist and a star rower on the Care Center Crew.

Anandi Reeves

I Remember

I remember the pink lights and posters on my wall.

I remember the feeling of embarrassment when I fell off the skateboard.

I remember the plant glistening in the sunlight.

I remember the smell of my grandma’s cooking.

I remember the lights flashing on the stage.

Anandi Reeves has one daughter and is working to complete her HiSET. She took a college class at The Care Center this spring.

Carmen Rios Bleed Into Memory

Bleed into memory as you remember your past… thinking about how your future will become. Bleed into memory as you remember the good and the bad days… but stay with the bad days in your head as you remember everything bad that’s happened in your life. Bleed into memory, as you’re thinking of death… death is near… calling you… slowly taking your life away… until you notice that you’re just remembering The bad days from the past Bleeding into memory.

Carmen Rios Untitled

These poems they are things that I do in the dark reaching for you.

I am the person who thinks and wonders what’s going on.

Also, I am the person who wants to see bright lights and stars every other day.

You want to know who I am.

I am the person who still thinks at night and wonders who’s reaching for me while I’m wanting to lie in the moonlight with shiny stars.

Carmen Rios is the mother of twin boys. This winter, she completed her first college course, Humanities 108, while studying for her HiSET.

Erica M. Rivera Poem

Redacted from “The Three Systems of a Poem”

The best things in life –mysterious, talking about them, talking about a poem, the sentence.

Poetry is really telling sentence displays.

We talk about the body.

Poem –Sentence is like a circulatory system. Central nervous system. You mean they all have bodies. Of course there are borderlines.

Erica M. Rivera is the mother of one child and is working to complete her HiSET. She grew up in Puerto Rico.

Sheynatais Rivera

I Remember

I remember the cars on the highway going by faster than it looked.

I remember the bright lights and my baby crying as it was her first time ever taking a breath on this earth.

I remember the sun and clouds following me back on the drive back home.

I remember the candy aisle being the only best place in the world.

I remember the sunset and the wind hitting my face as I walked the path.

I remember the loud overlapping chatter in the lunchroom.

I remember the loud crowds cheering at me.

I remember the feeling of my heart dropping and stopping.

I remember the echoing music running down the street in summer.

I remember feeling worse but now I feel better.

Sheynatais Rivera Anxiety anxiety anxiety

Why do I feel this way? My heart drops, my head goes numb

Breathe in, breathe out I can’t feel my stomach. Let me go, do this, let me go do that – Wait, what was I gonna do?

Is this me? Or, am I just Crazy? No! I am not, nerves crack and squeal, I can’t even hold on to my thoughts, shaking –steady. Why can’t I just catch my grip?

Why can’t I – Why can’t I? You’re a part of me that I will never understand.

Sheynatais Rivera is a 2022 Care Center graduate and the mother of a one-year-old girl. She loves expressing herself in poetry. She completed Humanities 108, her first college course this winter and is applying to Bard Holyoke for the fall.

Nicole Uszynski Impulse

Impulse

First kiss (then tell)

Out on a wire Love wins

We play a game

The fault in our stars

Arrival

On the come up

Her body and other parties

Night sky with exit wounds

If you turn around, I will turn around.

Nicole Uszynski is from Chicopee and is the mother of two.

Adamari Valentin

Someday I’ll Love Adamari

Until then we’ll keep a pretty good understanding. No interrupting unless spoken to. We have to keep this rule. If not, it’s gibberish, and nothing will ever make sense. Although she thinks just like me, we’re absolutely nothing alike. She’s nice, way too soft. She waits her turn and never learns. But it’s okay, I’ll be here to teach her better. She just has to listen and learn.

I can’t believe people confuse us two as if we were joined together.

I mean, we are one person but live two different lives on two different sides. I come and go as I please, I say and do as I please, I don’t wait for instruction, because when I walk through, believe me, I never come unnoticed. Now the other one, I just don’t know, but Someday I’ll love Adamari.

Adamari Valentin is a 2022 Care Center graduate. She is the mother of Ethaniel and enjoys writing and learning.

Antinique Williams Without You

Without you I can’t breathe

Without you I can’t eat

Without you I can’t fully be me

I need you every day, every second and minute

You’re everything inside and out of my chest

You stole my heart and you keep it healthy and clean

I swear on everything, I don’t every wanna leave

You’re my family, lover, and friend forever

You’re my ride or die; I’m with whatever

Without you I can’t think straight

Without you I can’t control my anger

Without you I can’t imagine the future

I don’t know what to do without you; I have no clue

I want to be stuck to you like glue.

Antinique Williams is from Boston and has a son. She loves expressing herself in poetry. She plays four musical instruments.

Keisha Williams

I Survived Death

Dear death,

Who are you exactly? Why is everyone so afraid of you, death?

Why does everyone seem to shake and tremble from the sound of your name when they come close to meeting you, death?

Well, everyone except for me, death, I’ve gone out of my way to finally meet you and get to know you. I was only seventeen years young, death. I was quite anxious to finally meet you, but you never showed up when the time came about.

Why is that, death?

Why does the world hear your name and think the world is over or act like the world is over, but when I hear your name, I think it’s only a start to a new life in a new world?

Why do 55.3 million people a year get to actually come face to face with you and get to know you, but I have yet to?

Are you scared of me, death? I was bold enough to take it upon myself and give you a ring, but you just let it ring.

Why is that, death? It’s been several years, and I have yet to come face to face with you.

Why are you hiding from me, death? Is it because you’re a punk and afraid to come across such a powerful soul as mine?

Everyone says you’re evil and ruthless, but I say you’re magical and mysterious. I’ve always thought one day you would come out of hiding so we can finally meet face to face, but I guess I was wrong, because as I grew older, I no longer craved to want to meet you because I SURVIVED DEATH!!!!

Keisha Williams is from Springfield and is the mother of two.

Rajine Bridgbasie

Humanities 108

Students read and responded in writing to works of contemporary literature and art that examine the subconscious, including experimental narratives, stories about dreams, visions, hallucinations, and illness, and fantastical or supernatural stories.

This selection of poems written by students in the class were inspired by readings from the course, including “The Butterflies” by Samanta Schweblin and “The Mystery” by Lydia George, and paintings by Leonora Carrington.

Poems by students in Humanities 108, “Writing the Dream,” a college course at The Care Center, winter 2022, taught by Professor Caroline Belle Stewart.

Rajine Bridgbasie Butterflies

The butterfly tries to get free, but it’s just a butterfly, small and pretty, weak but beautiful.

Still, the butterfly tries to get free. Fighting for life. Came from so far away.

Nevertheless, the butterfly tries to get free. From what?

Monsters, itself?

She doesn’t know. All she knows is that she is trapped. Alone, she tries to get free.

Admired for beauty. Dies because of weakness. Never free.

Rajine Bridgbasie The Mystery

“The mother of my mother’s mother”

Sometimes I wonder who the mother of my mother’s mother was.

What was she like?

How life was like for her, What she would say to me if we met, What I would say to her if we met.

It’s so intriguing to think about it. Was she different from me? I have so many questions.

Who was her mother?

Who was the mother of her mother’s mother?

The mother of my mother’s mother I will never know.

Rajine Bridgbasie is a 2022 Care Center graduate and the new mother of Zayn, born in April. She took two college courses while completing her HiSET. She is applying to Bard Holyoke for the fall.

Haishaleen Ramos Witching Hours

Surrounded by goblins, monsters with horns, Hell is the place…

I am lost.

I search and am found by dark, devilish night. Phantoms, ghouls, and a tiny spider. A rugged werewolf, so scary and grizzly.

I search some more before dawn and nocturnal.

The sky twilights but invasively obscures it all. Infinite black sky…

I must wake. I desperately try. I can see her now, the North Star. She is odd and inhumane. She snapped her twenty fingers and I can see the light.

“OH, That was an overnight in hell! Witching hours, they say.”

Haishaleen Ramos took Humanities 108 at The Care Center this winter.

Nitzairis Rivera

Parents, Our Guardians

We loved her

She worked hard

No one could fool her “Hush, here, it’s for you” heard often

Grandmothers are in love with us before they meet us

We rest in their wombs as they carry our mother

She gave to anyone who needed her quiet generosity

She spoke only when necessary

Mothers’ mothers are our best motherly figures

Loving others so we can receive

Grandma’s love was felt from sea to sea

My heart is hers and hers is here for me

“Here, it’s for you”

Love is all we need Love needs to be spread

As long as I’m alive it’ll always be for you

Nitzairis Rivera Feast

Inspired by a painting by Leonora Carrington

Life is our duty

We come and we go Food is our source

We will live forever, no

We must provide for what we produce

Life is a lesson we put to use Babies are in us for us

Our meals await, our bellies bust

Life comes in, life goes out One day this feast we’ll know more about

Nitzairis Rivera completed the Clemente Course as well as a few other college classes at The Care Center and is now going to attend Bard Microcollege Holyoke for her associate in arts degree.

Briana Rouleau Untitled

Inspired by a painting by Leonora Carrington

We looked above

The sky was a dangerous red

We wondered what could this mean

The monsters of various colors danced above us

The monsters roared an awful roar

They were so close above I felt I could touch them

What could this possibly mean

They looked dangerous and filled the red sky

Hovering above us

What could this possibly mean

Was the world ending?

Was this it?

Or was this just another one of my darkest dreams

What could this possibly mean?

Briana Rouleau completed the Clemente Course and Humanities 108 at The Care Center.

Rajine Bridgbasie

Bard Microcollege Holyoke

In addition to being a preparation program for the HiSET, The Care Center is home to the nation’s first college for young mothers and lowincome women.

At Bard Microcollege Holyoke, small groups of women participate in daytime classes to earn an Associate in Arts degree from Bard College.

Celebrated professors teach the classes onsite at The Care Center. We are including work from Bard Microcollege Holyoke students who were enrolled in the spring semester poetry course.

Christina Cislak Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall

You don’t ever notice how much a single breath means Until you see the love of your life struggle

For air.

Our bodies work so effortlessly to breathe every day

And we often don’t realize how big of a blessing this thing our body does Really is

Until you have a child Sensitive to fluctuations in temperatures

Croup has taken a toll on your body for a long time now

And the thought of this Snatches my soul I panic on the inside

My baby girl my pride and joy the center of my world In pain Distress

Frantic 911 calls with tears rolling down my face

All I can do is hold you until help arrives

My mind gently whispers a reminder to myself

stay calm

Stay calm so she feels secure through this moment

Hold her and rub her so she knows you’re there

Tell her you love her and you’re here for her every chance you have Reassure her that the EMT and police are there to help

That the bright flashing lights and loud sirens are safe

BARD MICROCOLLEGE

This has happened many times this time worse

Even with experience the terror seems to creep in much more each time

My panic was so intense it brought over a sense of calm in my body

My body knew what to do as her mom

Ambulance sirens and lights flashing as we rush to the hospital I hold a mask up against her face to try and help her airway

As her mom all I could do was be there for her

You’re there breathing for your child when they cannot

Your breath means more than you know When you see your young child fighting for hers you hold on to yours to fight for her in the ways she cannot for herself

You stay calm even though you’re scared and want to hysterically cry You cradle her even after 7 hours of having to help doctors get monitors on her and help administer all of her medications.

Fighting your sick frightened child Is a nightmare in itself But it’s a battle that will always pay off Her health and her breath is the most important thing to me

I watched her take her first breath

So I will do anything in my power to not have to see her last Even though it’s a fear

It’s a valid one as mother

A mother of a child who has had serious swelling of her airway Deprived of oxygen many times

I worry I panic

I turn into a superwoman

Who is able to break nights

Who is able to tone down my child’s fears of the doctors and medications with things

things only I know

Tv shows like Wallykazam and movies like CoCo and Moana

To feel your calmness

To hear the ease of your breath after watching your body fight Is my peace

Even after 7 hours struggling to keep myself awake

I fight For you

BARD MICROCOLLEGE

Because that’s what I’m here for You

To restore the breath in the lungs my body crafted The lungs my breast milk developed

To the lungs that aren’t mine But were a part of me during pregnancy

Your life and breath is more important than sleep your ease in breath

Blew life into me

When I felt like I couldn’t stay awake I did

Because you give me strength to do more than I feel I can ever do

Since the day you were born You

Your breath is my peace Violet Rose

Christina Cislak is an artist and a freshman at Bard Microcollege Holyoke who will graduate with an Associate in Arts in May 2023.

Priscilla Daniels

I Lost Myself

I lost myself trying to help others find themselves. I thought I had recovered

I really thought I was back on track but as I continued down the road

I found patches that weren’t completely healed. I really thought I had resolved the problem

I really thought it was all over but it’s like a pothole that gets covered every time it snows the plow truck reopens it.

It should have been a scar that heals & leaves the stripes to prove I won the fight.

Now it’s affecting who I am & who I want to be.

It feels like the world just stopped moving.

Priscilla Daniels is an entrepreneur and a sophomore at Bard Microcollege Holyoke. She is a mother of five.

Stephanie Delgado Injustice

Why, Oh, Why must we endure this pain. Being ourselves we get so much hate.

Questions unanswered and we don’t know why, Why being colored do they want us to die?

For why, oh, why must we suffer the consequences?

When all we want is to live our lives.

Alive and free is what we should be, Instead other people want to make decisions for me.

It isn’t fair, it isn’t right the injustice that is going on worldwide.

I just want to live at peace, and sleep without having to look over me.

Stephanie Delgado is a sophomore at Bard Microcollege Holyoke.

Nicholle Downey A Gift = A Flower

Take some time to smell the flowers

I can understand that saying today

Life isn’t always a bowl of cherries and sometimes it’s hard to find your way

I have to enjoy each moment to the fullest, live each day

Being present of where I am at physically, mentally, and spiritually

I am a work in progress. I know that I am not perfect and may make mistakes

So please oh please

Do not put me on a pedestal

For heaven sakes

Existing is easy and we all do this But for me, learning to live has been a process.

I can see how far I have come

I can appreciate the little things

The chirping of birds, the beating of a drum.

Time isn’t going to stop

And we can’t go back

Time is but a multitude of hours

So do yourself a favor Take some time to smell the Flowers!

Nicholle Downey is a freshman at Bard Microcollege Holyoke who will graduate with an Associate in Arts in May 2023.

Megan Perrault Untitled

How can you miss somebody you’ve never met?

‘Cause I need you now

But I don’t know you yet

I need you to know, I surrender

I surrender to the thoughts of you and me

Dancing in the moon light

Chasing thunder across the water

Falling into bliss

Tears caressing my cheeks

What have you done to my heart?

My mind races with a millions thoughts

In the end it is always you

I’ve been thinking about it lately

Things that can never be

Just how fast the night changes

I shiver at the thought as the temperature drops

Does it ever drive you crazy

Get out of my head

I can’t take it anymore

Where did I ever go wrong?

You’re driving me crazy baby

You stole my heart and ran with it

I just can’t breathe

Running from my past Into an eternal abyss

Where my heart once was is now void

What was once full is now barren

Megan Perrault Victory

You made him a king Victory

Confidence

Scream shout shake the walls

Scream your name

Face my demons with confidence

You make me feel invincible

All my struggles and worries melt away

The ghosts of my pasts and my shackles fall to the side

A prison

Silence the darkness

I need a miracle

Out of desperation I fall to my knees and pray for a miracle

THERE WILL BE A TIME I CAN MAKE IT ON MY OWN My chest is tight

It’s hard to breathe

I scream and shout Imprisoned in my dreams

Wake me up Wake me up

Wake me up

I’m not a Warrior

I’m just an ordinary being trying to pass my days

Give me faith

Give me love Give me hope

BARD MICROCOLLEGE

I need to face my giants I’m on my knees singing praise looking up to the Lord

Jesus take the wheel

steer me in the right direction

I am the rock in their foundation

I have to stay strong

Cast-me-down judge me for my sins

Waiting for judgment day holding the candle I’m not a Warrior I’m afraid to lose I’m in a storm

I lift my hands and pray

Megan Perrault is a freshman at Bard Microcollege Holyoke. She will graduate with an Associate in Arts in May 2023.

India Russell Reflection @25

This poem is dedicated to my sister April, who helped me see my reflection at 25-years-old.

For 25 years I couldn’t see my own reflection in the mirror. For 25 years I wanted to see someone else, someone who I did not know, yet idolized and worshiped.

I struggled EVERYTIME someone told me how beautiful I was. I’d always run to the mirror to see, see if I could see what they saw.

Yuck! I’d always thought. Me? Beautiful? Could it be true? These big thick lips, almond shaped eyes, this small little nose with the scar across the top

This skin, heavily hydrated with rich melanin, that I once considered oily and stained this luscious full head of hair like a lion’s mane, that grows tall towards the sun

like the plants, trees and flowers do.

Is this what you consider beautiful? Not me.

This is not what I see, that is not what I saw, because who I am.? I don’t know.

When I looked in the mirror I wanted to see Beyonce. She was my idol.

She is what the TV told me to worship.

My idea of beauty was fed to me by my false sense of reality, being blocked by something not real.

What is beauty for a Black girl?

Long blonde lifeless hair, lightly colored see through eyes, pale skin that ages at the speed of lightning.

That may be beauty for someone who doesn’t look like me, however,

BARD MICROCOLLEGE

that’s not what I was supposed to be.

I am me, a Black girl.

With thick lips, almond shaped eyes, small nose with a scar across the top, skin hydrated with rich melanin, luscious full head of hair like a lion’s mane, that grows tall towards the sun like the trees, plants and flowers do, brown eyes that appear black but shine bright when the sun hits them just right.

I’m a Black girl who didn’t realize or recognize how beautiful I was until I turned 25.

I hope to save you time by sharing my truth.

So please be YOU instead of the next version of somebody else. In other words. Love the way you look, and not the image they sold you.

After 25 years it was me that I could finally see, staring back at me.

My own reflection, reflecting back MY beauty to me.

India Russell is a freshman at Bard Microcollege Holyoke who will graduate with an Associate in Arts in May 2023.

Authors Visit The Care Center

September 8, 2021

Lyd Havens’s poetry has been published in Plough shares, Poetry Northwest, and Tinderbox. Her essays appear in Entropy, Half Mystic, and Autofocus Lit. Havens authored the chapbooks I Gave Birth to All the Ghosts Here and Chokecherry.

October 6, 2021

Catherine Weiss’s po etry has been published in Tinderbox, Up the Staircase, Fugue, Okay Donkey, per happened, Birdcoat, Bodega, Counterclock, petrichor, Hobart After Dark, and Flypaper Lit. They are the author of the chapbooklength poem, Fervor and the poetry collection, Wolf Girls vs. Horse Girls.

May 11, 2022

Bianca Stone, raised in Vermont and an MFA from NYU, is the author of Someone Else’s Wedding Vows, Poetry Comics From the Book of Hours, The Mo bius Strip Club of Grief, and the children’s book A Little Called Pauline, with text by Gertrude Stein.

June 8, 2022

Hanif Abdurraqib is a poet, essayist, and cultural critic from Columbus, Ohio. His poetry has been pub lished in Muzzle, Vinyl, PEN American, and other journals. His essays and music criticism have been published in The Fader, Pitchfork, The New Yorker, and The NYTimes.

Leila Chatti

Fall 2021 and Spring 2022

December 8, 2021

Ilyus Evander is a nonbinary transfem poet and organizer from Providence, RI. They have represented the Providence Poetry Slam at Brave New Voices, the Na tional Poetry Slam, and the Women of the World Poetry Slam. They are a two time Capturing Fire Queer Poetry Summit Finalist and a 2018 FEMSlam Champion.

February 9, 2022

Ross Gay is the author of four books of poetry: Against Which, Bringing the Shovel Down, Be Holding; and Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude. Gay is the win ner of the 2015 National Book Critics Circle Award and the 2016 Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award.

March 28, 2022

Cheryl Boyce-Taylor is a poet, author, and curator. Her verse memoir, Mama Phife Represents, is a tribute to her late son, hip hop icon Malik “Phife Dawg” Taylor of A Tribe Called Quest.

April 6, 2022

Leila Chatti has lived in the U.S., Tunisia, and Southern France. She is the author of the Deluge, winner of the 2021 Levis Reading Prize, the 2021 Luschei Prize for African Poetry, and longlisted for the 2021 PEN Open Book Award, and the chapbooks Ebb and Tunsiya/Amrikiya.

April 20, 2022

Arda Collins is the author of Star Lake and It Is Daylight. She was awarded the Yale Series of Younger Poets Prize and is a recipient of the Sarton Award in Poetry. Her poems have appeared in The New Yorker, A Public Space, The American Poetry Review and jubilat.

May 2, 2022

Tiana Clark is the author of the poetry collection, I Can’t Talk About the Trees Without the Blood, and the winner of the 2017 Agnes Lynch Starrett Prize. Equilibrium was selected by Afaa Michael Weaver for the 2016 Frost Place Chap book Competition Prize.

Alisha Pabon Zeno

Art Projects

Alisha Pabon Zeno Ninoshka Rivera

ART PROJECTS

ART PROJECTS

Ninoshka Rivera and Kayliannie Mata

ART PROJECTS

Sheynatais Rivera

ART PROJECTS

Laura Ortiz

Aaliyah Pereira

ART PROJECTS

Adamari Valentin

Lizbeth Aquino

ART PROJECTS

Daniela Ortiz

Luz Ortiz

ART PROJECTS

ART PROJECTS

Idianny Almanzar

ART PROJECTS

Adamari Valentin

ART PROJECTS

Alisha Pabon Zeno

Carmen Rios

ART PROJECTS

PHOTOGRAPHY STUDIO

PHOTOGRAPHY STUDIO

Chalk Art at Roque House

Guest artist Rami Baglio guided Care Center students in creating a work of chalk art in November 2021. Students helped color and shade Rami’s evocative sketch, bringing it to life on the sidewalk at the Roque House Program. It was an amazing opportunity to collaborate creatively under the guidance of an artist.

CHALK ART AT ROQUE HOUSE

In the Field

Care Center Rowers

FIELD TRIPS

Art in the Orchard

CELEBRATING 20 YEARS OF

Nautilus II is 20 years old! That’s a big number! Think of it: If Nautilus II were a person, she’d likely have graduated from The Care Center (TCC), and maybe she would have earned her As sociate’s Degree by now. She might well have a toddler or a preschooler of her own. Thinking about this makes me, as the founder of Nautilus II, feel as though I am becoming a literary grandmother!

As soon as I started teaching po etry at TCC, first as a volunteer and then as a faculty member, I knew that the teen mothers whom I worked with had talents that many weren’t yet aware of. I loved the poems the students were writing so much that I felt selfish keep ing them to myself. So even before the Nautilus II was formed, I began gathering student poems into anthologies that we stapled together and gave to other students, faculty, and staff in the school.

Then, when I discovered I wasn’t the only woman to publish a journal of sorts from the rooms of the building that is now The Care Center, I felt called to up the ante.

As readers of Nautilus II now know, Elizabeth Towne, a suffragist, local politician, and New Thought leader, published the original Nautilus in the building that now houses TCC. But back in 2003, my students and I still had a lot of history to uncover. So, the first task for the journal’s first student editorial board was to do some research at the Holyoke Public Library, where we pored over old editions of Mrs. Towne’s Nautilus that dated from the

Student portrait of Tzivia Gover, Nautilus II Founder and Friend (and honorary Literary Grandmother!)

Nautilus II

late 1800s through the mid 1900s.

We discovered that the original Nau tilus published a few poems in each is sue, but devoted most of the pages to articles about positive thinking, spiri tual growth, and good health. We also learned that Mrs. Towne had been a teen mother herself, which is why we named our journal after hers.

Mrs. Towne’s positive energy must have blessed our efforts, because our journal grew: from a staple-bound po etry book that we first circulated free within The Care Center and later sold for $3 a copy to members of the public, to a perfect-bound journal (a book with a spine), featuring artwork in black and white, then color. In time, we even began to collect endorsements from re nowned poets such as Martín Espada, Naomi Shihab Nye, and Nikky Finney, who visited The Care Center as part of the poetry program’s literary series. Then in 2011, Nautilus II was among TCC’s standout programs that caught the attention of the National Arts and Humanities Youth Program Award is sued by the President’s Committee on the Arts and Humanities. We received the Youth Program award that year.

Also that year, I published Learning in Mrs. Towne’s House: A Teacher, Her Students, and the Woman Who Inspired Them, a book about TCC’s poetry program and the story of how Mrs. Towne’s legacy in spired our efforts.

In 2016, it was time for me to move on to other things. When I left TCC, I passed the leadership of Nautilus II to a

new generation of students and faculty who, along with Ana Rodriguez, The Care Center’s Director of Education, continued to shepherd the journal for ward to reach its current form and many more successes.

Nautilus II has proven her indepen dence and strength as she has endured through changes of faculty and student editors—and thanks to Ana’s belief in it and the expertise of our designer Craig Malone, the journal has never failed to be published through it all—even in the face of a worldwide pandemic!

Mrs. Towne, who published her Nautilus faithfully, even when the building burned to the ground in the winter of 1910 and had to be rebuilt in 1911, would be proud!

I am, too! The young mothers study ing at TCC and the faculty who support their efforts have put their hard work into this project once again this year, and in doing so are carrying forward a legacy of resilience and well-earned pride in a job well done.

May the vision of Nautilus II as a project that nurtures creativity, confi dence, and talent in young women who are scholars, poets, and artists continue for another twenty years and beyond.

Tzivia Gover Nautilus II Founder and Friend (and honorary Literary Grandmother!) www.tziviagover.com hello@tziviagover.com

Visiting Authors 2002-2022

Hanif Abdurraqib

Katherine Arnoldi

Jeannine Atkins

Ellen Bass

Ekiwah Adler-Belendez

Peter Blauner

Gabriel Bump Elena Castedo Leila Chatti

Marilyn Chin Franny Choi Tiana Clark Arda Collins

Angie Cruz Junot Diaz Natalie Diaz Duy Doan Patrick Donnelly Mark Doty Thomas Sayers Ellis Ansel Elkins Martin Espada Ilyus Evander Nikky Finney Ruth Forman Ross Gay Aracelis Girmay Laurie Ann Guerrero Lyd Havens Joy Harjo Terrance Hayes Marie Howe

Ana Maria Jamolca

Bettina Judd

Patricia Lee Lewis

Lori Lobenstein

Carmen Maria Machado Demetria Martinez

Roberto Marquez

Grace Mattern

Aja Monet

Nancy Morejon Marilyn Nelson Lesléa Newman Naomi Shihab Nye

Porsha Olayiwola Sharon Olds

Alicia Suskin Ostriker Robert Pinsky

Patricia Powell Hillary Price Cassie Pruyn Camille Rankin Salvador Mestre Reed Aleida Rodriguez Ivelisse Rodriguez Patrick Rosal

Esmeralda Santiago Lauren Schmidt Brenda Shaughnessy Danez Smith

Patricia Smith Tracy K. Smith Layli Long Soldier Ilan Stavans Bianca Stone Bob Susskind Cheryl Boyce Taylor

Le Thi Diem Thuy e.E Charlton Trujillo Ann Turner Luis Alberto Urrea Sonia Rivera Valdez

Voices From Inside Ocean Vuong Ellen Dore Watson Catherine Weiss

Celebrating the First Ten Years of Nautilus II

Tzivia Gover, founder and editor

What was once a fledgling publication, staple-bound and relatively unheard of, Nautilus II: Journal of Poetry and Art by Young Mothers Studying at The Care Cen ter, has become something of an institution in Holyoke and beyond. It is registered with the US Library of Congress, and is carried in college libraries, and area bookstores.

Each year another cadre of teen mothers are chosen to steer the publication of the school’s literary journal. During the 3-month production process these young women learn skills in editing, graphic de sign, public speaking, and leadership, as they work together to create a perfectbound journal. Past editions of Nautilus II have been endorsed by literary luminaries such as Mark Doty, Marilyn Nelson, Patri cia Lee Lewis, Lesléa Newman, and Luis Alberto Urrea, among others.

Annual publication of Nautilus II repre sents the culmination of each year’s poetry program, in which students study the works of classic and contemporary authors, and learn from visiting poets of national and international stature who visit the Center each year, such as Joy Harjo, Sharon Olds, and Naomi Shihab Nye.

While we are very happy to look back at all of this success, we are also eager to look forward to the future. Here’s to another de cade (and more) of poetry, art, and the joy of self-expression!

Nautiius II was among the projects at The Care Center that were honored by the White House in November, 2011, with a National Arts and Humanities Youth Program Award, issued by The President’s Committee on the Arts and Humanities.

Pictured above are: Anne Teschner, Tashia Davis, and First Lady Michelle Obama

Unlocking History The Care Center’s Time Capsule

On Monday May 16, 2011 excitement filled the air at 247 Cabot Street, when students and staff at The Care Center opened a 100-year-old time capsule. The time capsule was created by author and publisher Elizabeth Towne, who once lived in the building that now houses The Care Center.

Towne placed the hand-made copper box containing 122 items in the cornerstone of the building in May of 1911. The time cap sule contained issues of Towne’s journal, The Nautilus, photographs of her home and of people who worked on The Nautilus, along with some coins, and accounts of the fire that destroyed the original structure. Among the most moving items were a letter Towne sealed into the capsule, detailing her wishes that the structure at 247 Cabot Street always be a place of education and self-improvement — as it continues to be today.

Care Center students helped plan the opening of Towne’s capsule and cre ated their own time capsule to place in the cornerstone for their counterparts to open in the year 2111.

Born in 1865, Elizabeth Towne was the daughter of one of Oregon’s earliest pioneers. In 1900, at age 35, she reversed her father’s footsteps and headed east to Holyoke, where she became a pioneer in her own right. A teen mother with little formal education, Towne grew to be an independent thinker and an early feminist. She divorced her first husband and supported herself by publishing The Nautilus, a journal about positive thinking and mental healing, which attracted international attention.

A century later. The Care Center publishes its own annual journal of poetry and art called Nautilus II, now in its tenth year, which is named in honor of Towne and her work.

The contents of Towne’s time capsule are now archived at Wistariahurst Museum in Holyoke.

Michelle Luyando

When I opened this box I felt excited butterflies in my stomach ... It was amazing. When I opened this box I smelled the year 1911.

I touched the box and it was very dusty.

I imagined Mrs. Towne standing there excited. just like us.

Ashly Figueroa

When I opened this box It felt like opening A treasure, like opening the mystery of the Pacific Ocean. So bright like the color baby blue. It felt special.

It was like being born into a different year, 1911. When you open this box

I hope you are happy and glad to know there is a different history going on, probably another color, but special like a present on Christmas. All I want is for you to enjoy.

MEMORY OF JAMES FOLEY

VOLUME 13, 2015

My Peace in Memory of James Foley Tzivia Gover

When we, at The Care Center, learned that James Foley had been violently murdered by extremists, we felt stunned and sickened. We couldn’t make sense of the facts before us. We knew Jim as a softspoken, kind, and gentle person who cared about the world and wanted to use his talents as a writer and teacher to help others.

1 met Jim when he was an MFA student in fiction at the University of Massachusetts, where he studied with Martin Espada, among others. 1 was training volunteers to participate in a program 1 had developed to teach po etry and creative writing to adult new readers and writers. Espada sent Jim

and several of his classmates our way. Jim went on to work with adult and young adult literacy students in Holyoke. In 2002, he joined us at The Care Center, where became the English as a Second Language teacher for our Spanish-dominant students.

During that time, Jim and 1 worked with the ESL class to write a poem, in which each student contributed a line. This poem, titled “My Peace,” is the only one I still have that bears Jim’s name. After reading it, this year’s Care Center students wrote their own poems, adding — 1 like to think — to the vision of a more peaceful world, infused with compassion, empathy, beauty — and of course, poetry.

IN MEMORY OF JAMES FOLEY

A group poem, circa 2002, by James Foley and students at The Care Center: Monica Colon, Lillian Baez, Sujeil Colon, Yahaira B., Natalie, Glenda Suarez, Linda Ortiz, Tzivia Gover, Beliza Cortes, Barbara M. Rios, Christina Santos, Limary Gonzalez.

My Peace

I want it to feel like the breeze when God opens the doors of heaven. I want it to smell like the ocean breeze.

I want it to sound like coqui in Puerto Rico, like the sound of the waterfalls in Puerto Rico.

I want it to feel like real love. I want it to look like the hills on “The Sound of Music.”

I want it to look like the birds that fly. I want it to feel like the birds’ wings, like the warm sun on the last day of winter.

I want my peace to sound like hip hop music. I want it to look like my mom’s beautiful skin.

I want it to look like waterfalls. I want it to sound like my mother’s song, like the ocean waves.

I want it to look like spring, the sun rising and the beautiful flowers and green leaves growing from the trees.

Selected Poems 2003-2021

Jaeleiny Alberto (2021)

Young Mother

“Oh wow, a mother already?!”

Hear it all too often.

Instead of going to the mall and shopping, I’m changing diapers, and finding the best formula.

But I am also going to school.

I am focused.

I am a business owner,

And hard worker, determined to do good.

An advocate for smaller voices.

And someone my daughter can look up to someday.

I am brave, and selfless.

Highly educated.

YES!

A mother already.

A hard working, proud, determined mother.

Mistie Ayala (2008) Yo Tengo

I have many travels, but only one road.

I have many companions, but only one love.

I have two lips, but one priceless kiss.

I have a lot of pain, but only one smile.

I pray to heaven to deceive Hell.

I have many tears, but only one heart to break.

I have immortal faith and dying worries.

I have many beliefs, but only one message.

I have a lot of passion but only one satisfaction.

Makayla Brown (2019) Dark Shadow

I release you my dark shadow

I release you.

You were there since my father. Beat the light out of my mother. But now you’re still just waiting for me to fall. I release you with the power I have.

I release you I release you I release you

I am not afraid to be Alone I am not afraid to be outside I am not afraid to be in the dark I am not afraid to be held with a gun in my face. I am not afraid to grow up I am not afraid to stand by the dark shadow

Any More!

But come here, the voices

I see and hear in the distance.

I am thankful for your calling of light.

Destiney Burgess-Marshall (2019) The Woman from Many Places

I am Penelope, survivor of Hell and back.

There’s nothing 1 haven’t seen.

There’s nothing that surprises me in this life.

I’ve been a prisoner of the most fierce demons, addiction and abuse for many years.

Although, I recently cut off the shackles and found freedom the moment my innocent baby boy was born.

Now my desire is his safety from all the suffering and misery I endured in the past.

I’ll remain clean and serene to be the best mother I can be.

My belief is God gives his best warriors the toughest battles. What doesn’t kill me only strengthens me.

Group Poem (2004)

The English Pre-Ged Class: Natalie, Lisandra, Arianna, Maribel, Jasmine, Yaritza, Santy, Isamari and Carmen Vicenty

From This, I’ll Rise

Inspired by Maya Angelou

From the ashes of my apartment burning. From losing everything.

From my lack of education, from having to get my GED, From violence, from drugs. I’ll rise.

From getting pregnant at 17, from “You’ll never make it!”

from having to put up with my man, from racism and discrimination.

I’ll rise.

Like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. I’ll rise.

Like an outstanding tiger, roaring.

I’ll rise.

Like the sky never ending. I’ll rise. I’ll rise. I’ll rise.

Jennifer Burgos (2014)

My Shadow Said to Me

Oh shadow, oh shadow, where have you gone?

Oh, the days as a child, when I would watch you run.

I would look at you and try to move faster and even try to outrun you but you were always spot on.

Not even ahead of me by one.

My shadow would walk along with me in different degrees, sometimes long, or sometimes just gone.

In the evening, you have scared me.

And I have watched you move to a hip hop, pop, or hopscotch beat.

“I don’t trust my own shadow,” I would hear others say. But if I followed, then with whose imagination would I play?

Sometimes I would see you and try not to step on you but you just wouldn’t move.

You just had this groove that you refused to lose.

And other times you showed a real clear view.

Nope, there was nothing wrong with you; it’s just not for one of your kind to choose the amount of light to reveal you.

And when there wasn’t, it was still fun because you didn’t get in the way.

I played hide and seek with my shadow in total darkness, until one day I got slightly punched in the face, and you weren’t even there to give me away.

Oh the games that were played with you, enjoying the funny shadows on the wall pursuits.

Oh the years that have expressed cheers and tears—but you never gave yours away.

What were you doing anyway?

Imagine we were really two and when you see me, all you will see is a shadow, just the same way I see you.

Imagine we were really two and when you see me all you see is you just the way I see me, which is you, too.

Valerie Calderon (2004) My Transformation

I used to be an embryo in the womb of my mother, never knowing a thing. as my mother rubbed her belly feeling the first kick of her unborn child. I used to be a baby depending on everyone to care for me and feeding me my bottle and changing my dirty diaper. Now I am an 8-month baby holding my own bottle but I still need someone to make the bottle.

I am now a child walking and talking wondering and having my curiosity running wild, wondering why is the sky blue?

Where do babies come from?

I used to be a teenager going through different emotions and dealing with hormones going crazy. Thinking I knew everything. But now am still a baby carrying a baby, feeling my first kick from my child.

Feeling the worst pain a woman has to go through delivering her first baby feeling my heart breaking in every great way looking into my child’s eyes for the first time.

And now I am the mother caring for my child having to change the diapers. Having to be the warrior for the child support money. Being the wise one and telling my naive friends to wait because motherhood is wonderful but also very hard. Now I am the mother and child wondering what my child is going to wonder. Hearing her laughs knowing that she knows who I am. I used to be a child, but now I am a child with a child. Having to deal with all the joys and struggles of being a teenage mother.

Brandy Caride (2008)

Like a Rose

I am like the rose that sits in my hand.

I feel alone and separated.

I wish to bloom with others.

I fear death.

I dream of a new beginning.

Xaribel Colon (2019)

How to be a Woman

Wake up, you are a goddess.

Fill yourself with love as you stretch in your sheets.

Find self worth in every neuron and electrical current that meets at your fingertips. Shed the skin you wore yesterday.

Bathe in your beauty.

Let that bath bomb frazzle away the worries on your mind.

— No man wants a young lady with stress tattooed on their face

Make sure to gently rub in your daily glow.

Use the one that smells like a mouth watering peach on a spring day.

— No man will resist your sweetness —

Fill your temple with Mother Earth’s bountifulness

Let her fruit nourish every thought, action, emotion.

Speak wisdom with every word, noise, hiccup that leaves your lips.

Xaribel Colon (2015)

Praise to the Mothers

I am the daughter of a warrior who was the daughter of a goddess. Praise her temple from which she sacrificed the body that nourished three babes.

Praise the mother who works, she labors in the hot sun with no regrets just to feed her children.

Praise to the mother of the mother, it was her discipline and teaching that made her who she is. Praise the warm smile that touches her lips, because she finds joy and happiness at the sight of her kids. She proudly tattoos each memory with love in her heart.

Praise the warm hands of a mother, hands that comfort any new and old soul, hard working but soft hands.

Praise her—she is your warrior, your life giver, a gift from a goddess.

Praise the generations before her who taught her the right path of motherhood and never gave up on her dreams.

Suleika Concepcion (2009)

En Papi’s House

1 walk through his doors and the first things I hear are Boobaz’s footsteps running to hide so 1 can find her.

Pa screaming “Oh no, Leika’s here, hide the food!”

It smells like arroz con gandules y pollo frito.

You can taste all the sofrito used in the rice.

Everything’s the same — nothing’s new:

Margie in the corner reading a book with the smell of cigarette surrounding her.

Pa in the kitchen cooking; Carrie’s locked in her room — locked with her girlfriend.

And Boobaz is yelling at the top of her lungs, looking for attention, but no one hears her.

She loves when I go to Papi’s house.

Jennifer M. Correa (2012)

She’s Like a Rose

We are each other’s reflection in the mirror. She is the only red rose surrounded by white roses. I am one of the white roses around her.

Her mood is like the day and night.

I’m stubborn when you try to stop me.

I’m like a rainbow.

I am bright when I am outside, gray when I’m inside.

Jennice M. Curet (2013) My Secret Place

The wind touching my body as It passes by. I can even taste it, it’s So very nice and sweet. I can hear People’s voices so far, far away. The Smell of the pine trees so strong I can taste it. The birds flying by Their sounds brings chills to my Spine. The room so dark but yet so Bright. The moon shining brightens My night. The silence in the room Drags my thoughts away Or clears my Mind.

Keyanna Daniels (2007)

I Am the Dream

I am the dream a poor man’s daughter strong, black and beautiful. I am a poor man’s daughter, his one great joy. I am the child the child of a poor man. Ah, but I am the rich one.

Tashia Davis (2011) Autobiographia Musica

When I was a child... I would turn on my radio full blast and dance around my room, singing as loud as I can!

I hated when people would tell me To turn it down or lower my voice, or even sit down and relax!

I hid behind my closed doors and closed shades!

I cried out “WHOOO” — whenever I heard a song I liked or “OHH YEEA” when I got that feeling in my body just rushing up my spine! Yelling “GETT ITT” when I would break it down!

Now I’m here at The Care Center, a mother of twins. And the music is still flowing in my head As I pass my GED and go on to college.

Nancy De Jesus (2003)

The Poet

I am the poet of strength.

I am the poet of hope.

I am the poet of not giving up.

I am the poet of keeping on.

I am the poet of not stopping.

I am the poet of my child.

I am the poet of my class.

I am the poet of writing.

I am the poet of babies.

I am the poet of books.

I am the poet of dolphins.

I am the poet of worms.

I am the poet of caterpillars.

I am the poet of butterflies.

I am the poet of people.

I am the poet of Puerto Ricans.

Jelicha Diaz (2014)

I Am Black and Yellow

The color black is all the darkness in my life.

The color black is the sadness I carry around.

The color black reminds me of all the struggles I had to go through.

The color black hides all my fears and worries.

The color yellow is all I have overcome.

The color yellow is for my uncle and friend who I lost to suicide.

The color yellow is a reminder that there’s always light at the end of the tunnel.

The color yellow is the smile I fake as if I’m happy on my lowest days.

The color yellow is soft and warm and makes everything dark look a little better.

The color yellow is for the strength I have gained.

Veronica Diaz (2008)

What the Walls Surrounding Us Said

That I’m uneducated because I’m young with kids.

That I’m cheating because I have guy friends.

That I’m wrong because I don’t have a degree.

That I’m pregnant because I am fat.

That I’m on drugs because I am skinny.

That he beat me because we argued.

That he’s cheating because he was out late.

That I’m stupid because I dropped out.

That I’m a bad parent because I yelled.

That I owe rent because they saw the landlord leaving my house.

That I’m troubled because I lived a rough life.

That I’m like my mom because I had children.

That I’m fake because I dyed my hair.

That I’m cheap because I didn’t buy my shirt at the mall.

That I’m crazy because I got confused.

That I have no manners because of the way I speak. That I won’t have a life because of my spouse.

Mariangelic Felix (2020) Finding My Way

Somewhere along this path I lost my way. In this game we called life, I forgot the rules. Along this path I forgot me.

I lost my voice amongst the crowd. Trying so hard to blend in, I soon stuck out like a red rose in the bushes of white.

I tried so hard to stand on my own two feet, yet forgot what I stood for and I stumbled and fell to my knees. Along this path, my soul became hidden in this false world that I created.

I lost my way, no longer able to stand, forgot who I was, trying to blend in.

Shattered my life, forgot my dreams, my goals vanished and I tried to run away.

Unable to remember who I truly was, having to start from scratch, rebuilding myself back up and fighting for my memory, remembering what I stood for, hoping not to fall once again.

Waking up every day looking for my voice that was lost amongst the crowds,

my own self that followed the crowd, trying to blend in, when I stood out.

Amnerys Figueroa (2007)

My Life

I am the poet of my own words.

I am the poet of my own thoughts.

I am the poet of the flames going through my spine.

I am the poet of my wings that can fly high in the sky.

I am the poet of the rain clouds above the volcano.

I am the poet of my life and this is the way it will always be.

I am the poet of the shadow on earth, I am the poet of who I am.

Yasmin Figueroa (2013) Fire

Fire that feels nothing That doesn’t care what People feel. That sees People suffer, and crying Over what they Went through or what They lost. Fire that Smells its own evil Hears everything Burning, breaking.

Fire that leaves Damages and does not Care for others.

A fire that leaves

A whole different Change in another’s path.

Yasmin Figueroa (2013) Feeling

I am a fire that feels Anger, hate, and nothing Else, feels heat, over Woods, hearing everything

Breaking, creaking, falling Down, while people talk, Tell, and cry.

Misha Figueroa (2017)

Thirteen Ways of Looking at Rain

After Wallace Stevens’ “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”

I

Among the stormy weather the clouds gather, preparing to rain a lullaby and sing you to sleep.

II

I was of three minds, like a shadow bound with the universe, a soul and a world.

Ill

The rain whirled in the wind. It was a sad heartfelt part of the pantomime.

IV

The earth and sky are one. The earth, the sky, and people are one.

V

I do not know which to feel as pain, the disrespect of people toward the environment or the brutality of people towards each other.

VI

Silence filled the air, all but the drizzling of rain. Soundlessly crashing to the ground, fog appearing and frost gleaming in the grass. An indecipherable cause.

VII

Oh frail world, why must you upset the universe? Do you not see how you make the angels cry while the earth bleeds?

VIII

I know violent accents and I know lucid, inescapable consciousness; But I know, too, the rain is involved in what I know.

IX

When the rain washed out of sight, it marked the edge of one of many witnesses.

X

At the sight of rain washing in a reflection of the past, even the future would cry out sharply.

XI

People rode over the world surrounded in glass. Once, fear pierced them. In that they mistook the clarity of their fragile encasement for the rain.

XII

The universe is moving. The rain must be cleansing.

XIII

It was sunny all day. It was shining and it was going to shine. The rain sat in the puddles.

Group Poem (2005)

Roxy, Princess, Carmen C., Johanna, Ana, Loribeth, Maria S., Glorivee, Sujeil, Celia, Alba, Liany, Marangeli, Damara, Jessica C., Solmary, Phylicia, Kayleigh, and Isamari

A Poem of Phenomenal Women

I am full of so much love to give

I am strong, passionate and stubborn

I am the queen of angriness.

I am a responsible mother of two little angels

Yo soy una mujer bella y boricua

I am a strong woman

and have a lot of confidence in myself and others

I ask myself why the hell do I care if they like me or not?

Me pregunto porque la vida es cruel y dura

Yo oigo el sonido del mar con la voz de mis pequenos caracolitos

I hear the sound of a shell

I see my children playing together, without danger, with laughter, swimming, running.

I see the success of summer.

Yo quiero tener todo lo mejor en un futuro

I cry knowing my daughter will never have a father.

Yo veo mis hijas felices conmigo

I see my daughter going to college in the future

Yo sueno con casarme.

Yo se que mi hija es bonita y que sabe mucho

I say, “1’11 see you another day.”

I say, “You live to die.”

Yo digo ... gracias Dios mio por que pesar de todo amo la vida que tengo

I know that no matter what, I will always have the love of my children

I am full of so much love to give.

Ivy Foster (2008) Lost Emotions

My emotions are like lost sailors trying to find their way home. They are like blue water in front of me that never seems to end. As the ship rocks back and forth so do my feelings for him. I need to find my way, I have to find my way, for if I don’t I will be lost at sea forever.

Samantha Gouvan (2012)

Praise the Young Mother

Praise the young mother with the short brown hair and the eyes that see her growing daughter.

Praise the young mother that sacrificed her childhood early to raise her own.

Praise her for leaving an abusive home to move out on her own and bring her daughter up the right way.

Praise her for giving her all, and giving her daughter everything she needs.

Praise her for all those sleepless nights and staying strong through everything.

Praise her for going to school every day, trying so hard to get an education.

Praise her for being so mature at 17, all grown, living for every day.

Praise her for being independent. Praise her.

Latigra Heckstall (2009) My Heart

If my heart had a taste

It would be in many different flavors My blood would be taste like Love, warm and giving. My Heart would be sweet, so sweet that a piece could Hurt you. So cold from rejection that one touch

Could give you frostbite. So hot from neglect it would Burn your throat. So bitter from being overjoyed That you couldn’t finish it. So call me what you Like cause I am far from Normal, but like my Heart no one could touch. Break or finish me. My heart is truly One of a kind.

Rhondesa Hoheb (2011)

Sing the Song

Inspired by For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide when the Rainbow is Enuf by Ntozake Shange

Sing the song of her confusion.

Sing the song of her pain/ her anger/ her stress.

Sing the song of her, who wants to make a change.

Phrases of motherhood (only 15) with no baby daddy to help

a motherhood of hell.

Sing the song of her, who wants to give her boy a better chance.

Sing the song of never living in a good environment.

I’m dancing on top of the world, telling myself I can do it.

A song of you telling me you love me,

A song of your lies, a song of our children.

She can’t hear anything except him in her ear, existing over and over.

She can’t hear anything except the bad influence in the streets.

She can’t hear anything except violence, the screaming and yelling.

She doesn’t know the sound of the truth, the birds chirping, playgrounds, parks, kids playing, running around.

She doesn’t know the sound of love, joy and happiness.

Sing the song of your life. Of your experiences. Sing the song of your fears.

Of making a change for our people, for our world.

Jessica Jodoin (2006)

The Girl in My Mirror

Her lips curl over in a frown, a look of discontent across her face yet there is a twinkle in her eyes.

Sorrow contains her completely, in her hair that hasn’t been combed, on her cheeks that are without color.

She is unhappy, but why? Her life seems to be fulfilled yet there are still tears welling up.

So many things cloud her mind but it is the sadness that holds her back. She cries softly, not to wake her past.

She tries hard to smile, clenching her teeth.

Her appearance shows her to be happy to others, but little do they know, she’s a great pretender.

She is washing her face off.

As she scrubs, the joy goes down the drain. Now she is empty.

She looks up and prepares to dream. Her dreams are her sacred place where she is happy and free.

Now that she is clean, she stares. She sees a pale ghost. She is in my mirror.

Savanah Johnson (2018) Complaint Poem

For you have ruined me, and my will.

Turning me completely heartless. Treating me as if I was a piece of trash thrown onto the sidewalk.

Kicked down the street by you as if I was a pebble.

Helter-skelter lifestyle not knowing what would come next. You make me question how you were once everything

You make me understand “life”

But was it really living?

For you have ruined me. Yet looked so beautiful doing so.

Jenifer Jusino (2012)

I Am Worthy

I am honest, a true friend the one to go to when you’re down.

I am emotional, gentle as a baby.

I am shy, nerdy, and quiet.

I am time-worthy.

I am a sensitive girl.

I am hardworking and responsible, a mother of a beautiful baby.

I come from a big family from Puerto Rico, “Ponce, la isla del coqui.”

I give my time to people.

I give my all.

I care for you.

I praise myself for being strong and independent, for being a great mother and not giving up.

I praise myself, for I am worthy

Sandra Lopez (2016) My Anger

My anger is as big as a tsunami. It’s as slow as my focus.

Small as the time I’m wasting.

As small as the ability to keep moving forward. As fast as my temper when it starts to boil. It moves like a boxer in a ring.

It sounds like I’m crazy.

If it were a food it would be a sour apple. If it were a color it would be black.

If it were a person it would be torn. If it were a country it would be a disaster.

Franchesca Lozada (2015) Alabanza

After Martin Espada’s poem of the same name. In Spanish, “alabanza” means “praise.”

1,2,3, action: Praise the man who stood before the lens, on his knees giving his last words to America. Alabanza.

The young woman who struggled all her life, now pushing out a new life. Alabanza.

The guy who sits in the big chair Making the best decision for America. Alabanza.

The great and only who sacrificed everything to give us, the people, life. Alabanza.

The mother who watched her child suffer as he or she grew up in this cruel world. Alabanza.

The lady who sits in the chair looking out the window, not remembering all the hard work she accomplished all her life. Alabanza.

The autistic child who survived all of life’s brutal consequences. Alabanza.

The little girl who was horribly touched now putting away the man who did such a thing years later. Alabanza.

Faith Matos (2017)

For Women Who Are Hard to Understand

After Warsan Shire’s “For Women Who Are ‘Difficult’ to Love”

You try to explain to express yourself by your taste your fashion your style your words your attitude defies him and he states the unknown He sits there confused rewording the words that rolled off your tongue His face in distress, not understanding what flows through you.

He looks at you as you put your face on the way he looks at your clothes. You ripped things up and you sew things together.

Yet he still doesn’t understand.

He’s a man that loves women who has a dark past but can’t bear to understand the story that rolls off your tongue.

He sits there as a child seeing a flower bloom before his eyes with such amazement but with confusion on how it happens

Teach him how you do the things you do the effort he would put in is what he will understand of you if he refuses let him sit there until his agony breaks in and the facts become unbearable let him learn the hard way and see what he gets out of it Let him be as you continue to be free

Group Poem (2016) This Room

I remember this room:The large window looked out on a spring green lawn and the bay beyond.

1 remember this room that used to be mine.

I remember this room that was messy, but I knew exactly where everything was.

I remember this room never had privacy.

1 remember this room at 19 Elting Circle. I lost my virginity.

1 remember this room where I made love to my first love.

I remember this room, I never wanted to leave it.

I remember this room, I had my first sleepover.

I remember this room, I always felt alone.

1 remember this room, I laughed—and smiled as well.

1 remember this room where my daughter was born.

I remember this room I’m in right now.

I remember this room before,

I remember this room—butterflies across the wall, wishing they could fly.

Justine Mohr (2017) Untitled

I watch you like a hawk you are the light beneath my skin you always make me smile with your sweet shining smile you are as beautiful as a thousand stars on a dark night you are my one and only I would travel the world for you you are the sun to my rainy day I love you to the moon and back.

Claribel Oquendo (2003)

Passion

My hips are the curve of the mountains.

My hands are like the weapons of my body. My legs hold me firm on the earth’s surface.

My face so smooth like the moon.

My eyes so small lips so sweet like the deep sea. I am the passion: Claribel.

Maria Ortiz (2011) Don’t Tell Me

Don’t tell me all you think about please. I don’t want to know. Just tell me how bad you want me from the bottom of your heart. Please don’t give me excuses. I don’t want to hear your lies. I remember you and I lose my calm. I remember you and my heart rips in little pieces.

I remember you and my smile goes away.

Isamari Otero (2005)

Someone Taught Me

Someone taught me how to love and care

Someone taught me how to be a mother

Someone taught me how good it is to have two little ones who always are there to love, care and admire

Someone taught me how beautiful it is to explore life with my baby boys

Someone taught me good things about life

Someone taught me to love and care.

Maribel Perez (2004)

I Wear the Mask

I wear the mask of happiness

I weave my mask from clay and the yellow of a happy face.

I wear the mask of sexiness.

I weave my mask from fingers, Marilyn Monroe glasses, cleavage, a white bikini.

I wear the mask of motherhood.

I weave my mask from water, the color of sunrise, and responsibility.

I wear the mask of anger.

I weave my mask from paper, red like fire, and curly hair.

I wear the mask of sadness

I weave my mask from cement, gray clouds and the look of sick children.

I wear the mask of shame.

I weave my mask from paper, broken glass, black sunglasses and dead birds.

Luz Quinones (2018)

Untitled

I love you more than someone who finds a pearl in the ocean.

I love you more than life itself.

I love you more than words can describe.

I love you more than food.

I love you more than you love yourself.

Helena Richard (2005) Through the Generations

My family has four I hope for one more

We are very much the same We are all known by name

Unique that is what we are Warriors that have come far

Brendaliz Rivera (2112)

My Pain

Because my pain is so strong, I do not show my weakness in tears, and drown, when you’re not around.

Yuko Richmond (2014) Winter

My shadow said to me, “Cold, everything is covered with snow.”

Quiet, the snow runs.

1 fight with darkness to turn my heart strong.

My heat is escaping from my toes to my head.

Everything is frozen like an ice cube.

1 am waiting for snow to melt like on a hot summer Sunday.

Spring don’t hide, stop being cold to us.

My heart’s so big But it beats quiet. My weakness stays inside until you’re by my side. I laugh to not scream, I smile to not cry, I focus before I lose it. Do you notice my pain inside?

Group Poem (2016) Outside

Inspired by “Outside”by Dan Albergotti

Out of wind, some kites.

Out of jokes, laughter.

Out of sun, discomfort.

Out of prayer comes hope.

Out of lies come troubles.

Out of family comes love. Out of books come stories.

Out of education comes success.

Out of me comes a beautiful baby girl.

Out of growth comes beauty.

Out of children comes imagination.

Out of a wrapper, candy.

Out of the house, nature.

Out of the universe, planets.

Out of badness, happiness.

Out of a rainy day, sunlight. Fog.

Out of trust, you’re left alone.

Out of sleep, you’re tired.

Out of poetry, you forget how to start again.

Out of beauty, joy.

Out of illness, gratitude. Out of silence, worlds.

Out of Marie’s laughter, diamonds.

Out of a cup, some wine. Out of my pencil, these words. Out of time, it’s over.

2003-2021

Sharika Rivera (2009) In the Mirror

When I look in The mirror I see Nothing because

At the moment I don’t Have a mirror

But if I imagine me Looking in a mirror I see a sexy mama With big eyes Kinky hair

All over everywhere Straight teeth But ruined with Cigarettes A birthmark on My chin That identifies me From a friend Small ears But sometimes I feel like they’re Big Somewhat of a clear Face but very Dry skin

The next thing I Try to see I can’t Because now The mirror in my head Hits me

Hits me so hard In the face With every single Bad thing

That I would like to Change Why? I don’t know

Because some Times my eyes get Upset

Because of what They see. But why? You know what I’m saying? Goodbye to This mirror Because it Tries so hard To identify me

Sharika Rivera (2010) The Sun Rises

The sun rises But the storm Is still Rotating Passing through The dark woods Losing The pathway Purposely The sun rises

Still

Impatiently waiting For the Change

You say You’re present But how come

The wind feels As if you’re not here?

Heisha Rodriguez (2006) Alabanza

Alabanza to God in his bright white gown extending his right hand to me Telling me, “Come back.”

Alabanza to my daughter whose face brings joy and happiness to my life and has my heart and all my love.

Alabanza to my mother for always working hard and sacrificing everything for me and my brother at no charge.

Alabanza to my Grandmother on my mother’s side for being so beautiful in every way, for having seven children and till this day being so strong, working so hard, even with her surgeries taking care of grandkids and staying so strong for all of us.

I’ll praise myself for having people who love me, loving them back, for being me and for having a happy life ...

Ruth Roman (2006) I Hear Holyoke

I hear the sound of Holyoke, it sounds loud like the bass coming out of a car with reggaeton

1 hear the sound of Holyoke, it sounds fun like kids playing in the park.

I hear the sound of Holyoke, it sounds like an old man gardening while singing a classic salsa song.

1 hear the sound of Holyoke, it sounds like sadness, crying, sorrow after shots are fired.

I hear the sound of Holyoke, it sounds like Spanish Harlem as a Mother shouts to her kid ique suban para arriba!

I hear the sound of Holyoke, it sounds like my life.

Belkis Santiago (2018) Untitled

Babies having babies is all I hear everywhere I go. I see my son: I don’t see the same reflection. He looks just like you. No, he’s not me, he’s himself. I’m a broken wall patching up my mistakes. He’s not me, he’s a sprout just beginning his journey. I sit and wonder: what do you think about me when I can’t keep that mask anymore, or be that happy mommy you always see? I’m a wreck. I think about all the things you are wondering in your tiny brain about me while you dream, my sweet child. Am I doing everything right, am I keeping you satisfied, am I understanding your needs to my extent? When you awake and you smile and give me a kiss, I know I’m everything to you, and not everything I was thinking I am.

Christina Santos (2003) I am the Poet

I am the poet of nature of the wildflowers that grow in the forest, the poet of the river that flows throughout the valley on its way to the seas the poet of the rain that falls and it gives life to nature and the wild, also of the wind that caresses the trees and makes their leaves travel into the crystal blue skies.

Ashley Scytkoski (2007)

These Hands

These hands will write the nonfiction not the fiction that columnists and the media seem to write about young moms. These hands will write the poem that says: Stop criticizing us!

Don’t degrade us!

We are people and have feelings, too. I’m a teenage mom, so what?

Does that mean I must be an irresponsible slut? These hands will write the words that put a stop to all this negativity.

Our children are our crops.

We take care of them and cater to their every need.

We know what we need to do.

We are their idols, they will look up to us all of their lives. These hands are strong and powerful. These hands have been through hell and back, through thick and thin, the tough and the easy.

These hands are my own. These hands will write our truths:

We love our kids and their precious kisses from the first time we hear them cry to the day they die.

These hands may be broke. These hands go to school. These hands will get a job. These hands will write these lines for all the rest of time.

Viviannett Serrano (2010)

The Light

I dream of the overwhelming profusion of the black light I see when I look out my window, the black light that blocks all my goals, dreams; the black light that fills me up, stressed, in pain; the black light is there, won’t go away. The light is so black but I know that soon there’s going to be a bright light coming in.

Sylvia Torres (2020)

I Miss You Like

I miss you like a junkie misses their high I miss you like one bullet in the chamber with your name on it

I miss you like these streets don’t have a say who stays or who goes I miss you like all these families losing someone who mattered to them

I miss you like it’s the only breath you have left I miss you like all this blood squirting out of your wounds

I miss you like why you not someone else I miss you like please come back I miss you like I just truly don’t understand

I miss you like it’s a nightmare and I can’t wake up I miss you like a throbbing heart getting ripped out of my chest

I miss you like

Adamari Valentin (2021)

The World Calls You Small, and You Talk Back

So small, do you eat at home?

You’re just a child.

Where’s your parents?

Just wear a different one.

You will grow maybe.

You’re going to be that small forever.

Runs, jumps, spins.

Ooh, perfect. Just my size.

Yes, it still fits.

I don’t even need one.

I ate too much.

I’m full.

2003-2021

Angelique Vera (2010) Woman

1. Woman I am Warrior of Femininity

Defender of all Fantasy Strength of Mother Earth Time nonexistent

Faith unparalleled I am Passion Silent rage

Timeless words carelessly Thrown on the Ink-filled page.

2. Woman I am Thinted purity Turbulent serenity

Cloudless summer storms Thunder I am Lightning fire White snow Evil mermaids

Mischievous fairy mother

Territory of mushrooms Homes

Mother of goodness Blessing unopposed Angel.

3. I am she Mercy of Your nightmares

The wildness to your tranquil Seas I am she Wicked saint Your domineering queen Temptress of skies Seasons Tigers And trees.

4. I’m Dancing just Out of your Reach That one Perfect Shell you Missed along the beach I’m running With time Forever chased by Your memories

Regrets Mistakes

Forever brand new. I am she Thoughts Of times forgotten Tears spilled over Memories.

Group Poems from Isolation (2020)

No One Ever Told Me

No one ever told me

How hard it really is to have an infant

Or that having a child, you could end up single, without a father

No one ever told me

That my second child would be a terrorist

And one ever told me

how much I was going to love my kids

No one ever told me

That I could be happy and content without a partner

That I would enjoy drawing as much as I enjoy painting

No one ever told me I was going to get so attached to my pets

That I would become a plant lady

No one ever told me

That I would break every sewing machine I would ever touch

No one ever told me

There could still be pandemics that could shut down the world

And no one ever told me that I would live through a pandemic and stay strong

No one ever told me that being home all the time could make your life feel so drained

No one ever told me

That I could accomplish things independently

That I could be my own kind of beautiful

No one ever told me

That I could reinvent my life