Don’t Tell Me How to Say My Name
With a bounce in my step and a smile from ear to ear
My feet made their way into white stone walls
“Maybe you should say your name
like this,”
he says to me.
“Clients get confused when you say your name
your way.
They don’t get it.”
He swivels in his chair,
his chest puffed,
his words masked as wisdom.
Anger flowed up and down my spine.
Brown bare feet and hands, covered in sand, running across the street and back,
running around, avoiding cars and lighting up fireworks,
Warm nights, spent listening to my grandfather’s stories next to a tree I climbed early that day.
Millions of immigrants crossing to safety,
holding on to each other
for that and the sweat on their backs is all they brought.
It’s the calloused hands that grip the shovel to move mountains
to stride onto new land.
You know, safe land.
Don’t tell me how to say my name.
The way I say my name is not a trend.
The way I say my name is not a commodity
to be used, or changed just because you “don’t get it.”
Sitting in the back of my dad’s truck barely old enough to formulate proper sentences,
desperately trying to memorize where I’m from although
I’ve lived there my entire life.
How does a child convince the man in firm green
we are the same?
I’m not yours to mold,
So don’t tell me how to say my name.
The way I say my name stands on the shoulders of those who rose before,
of those who dance like the world is on fire and there is no tomorrow.
Do you want to know my name?
My name is three words,
And no, I will not change how I say it.
My name is Ariella Pinedo Vanegas.
Sin Comunicar
I recollect blurry visions of tattered yellow books and cassette tapes
a gift of a migrant parent and a son of migrants
They wanted me to own el idioma inglés
Time lapses to fourth-grade lectures and Missions of
San Diego de Alcala
Built out of paper and popsicles sticks but mostly I recall
Getting in trouble for finding the peeling ceiling and fluorescent lights
Far more interesting
Among the scattering of rules for conformity and petty elementary school crimes
Came a teacher’s assistant to take me away from a classroom of 25 to a class of 5
To take a test after test after test that only bilingües
took
No matter how fast I finished and how many I passed they continued
And so did I
Poseyendo el idioma que tanto querían negar mío
'Don't Tell Me How to Say my Name' and 'Sin Comunicar' can be found in Write Now! SF Bay's Anthology "ESSENTIAL TRUTHS: THE BAY AREA IN COLOR" buy here
Beyond the Coffee Mug on the Window Sill
We pretended that there was no world outside,
Hid away with small-talk and
blissful smiles
You know,
That's the thing about the city
it's selfish and it's overflowing
Out of small
apartment buildings,
They sleep or argue all night
only to have overslept a second
too long
But on those infinite days when
the sun decides to peek through ...
Shine through the scatter of
buildings and bustle of
humans -- too important to
acknowledge anything
beyond the rotation of their
world -- This city, my city,
can be kind.