BIO
A SF Bay area resident, Marlene Labastida was born in Mexico and grew up in Oakland, California. She is interested in exploring and narrating the stories of immigrant youth through poetry, particularly around trauma, perception and the DACA experience. Marlene graduated from Dartmouth College with B.A. in Economics and did graduate studies at The Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania.
Quédate Callada
Quédate callada, mami whispered on my first
day of kindergarten
Si, mami.
Reminded
me again as we walked past the laundromat,
I
clenched my red Sesame Street lunch box as she murmured,
Shhh…
if
anybody asks about your immigration status
(illegal)
or about
how our family got here
(Walked
across the dry 100 degree Sonoran desert holding papi’s hand.
My toddler feet barely making any strides.
Unable to
distinguish between US and Mexican soil.
Cried
most of the way.
We almost
ran out of water.
It took 4
days.)
Don’t
tell anyone that..
no tienes papeles.
Not your
friends,
or even
your teachers
(don’t trust a soul with these things)
If the
daily instructions weren’t enough,
on
Saturdays, she reminded me again before catechism
Whispered
in secrecy in the entrance of our studio apartment
as she
polished my shoes
(as if our neighbors could hear over the city noise,
or their saturday morning
novelas)
and
cautioned me again as we approached St. Liz,
where all
of the other five year old girls with patent leather shoes
waited to
learn about Jesus
No le digas a nadie
(not even the church is to be trusted)
Quédate
callada
Be quiet
Silence
Shhh
Si, mami.
(Stayed quiet. Mum. Silenced.
Injustices. Harassment. Wrongdoings.
During my childhood.
My
teens.
My
twenties.
A lifetime.)
Quédate callada, I mumbled on my first day
of college
I
clutched my books as I walked across the quad
Shhh..
Don’t get
too much attention or talk too much.
Don’t
overshare, especially about your family.
(There are consequences)
Remember,
todavia
No tienes papeles
Mami’s
cautions rang in my ears as I made
new
friends,
new
teammates,
new
boyfriends
Don’t say
a word about the situation
(Sin papeles.
Started to become invisible)
Didn’t
want to be branded as illegal.
Even
though that’s what it was
(Or in more politically correct terms
these days,Undocumented,
because Human beings can’t be illegal
or aliens. Unless they are branded so
by the government and the media)
Nothing
anyone could do for me.
(Besides pity me, like you do a wounded animal.
Stare at it helplessly.)
Occasionally,
we found each other.
(the handful of us. estudiantes sin papeles)
And we
immediately understood
And
tacitly knew that that we needed
to
protect each other’s secret.
as if it
was our own. It was.
That’s when
I learned, that there is nothing personal in pain.
Quédate
callada.
Be quiet.
Shhh.
(That keeping secret shit stays with you)