Clap When You Land

by Elizabeth Acevedo

“Don’t let it stain you,” Tía’s always said. But can’t she see? This place we’re from already has its prints on me.

I love my home. But it might be a sinkhole trying to feast quicksand mouth pried open; I hunger for stable ground, somewhere else.

But I learned young, you do not speak of the dying as if they are already dead. You do not call bad spirits into the room, & you do not smudge a person’s dignity by pretending they are not still alive, & right in front of you, & perhaps about to receive a miracle.

You do not let your words stunt unknown possibilities.

I am beginning to learn that life-altering news is often like a premature birth: ill-timed, catching someone unaware, emotionally unprepared & often where they shouldn’t be:

when I need a reminder there is a life for me beyond the water & that one day I will not be left behind.

& although most people here won’t admit they think like me, a woman should be able to sell whatever she wants to sell. But not if it’s at the insistence of a man. This man.

I am theirs. You can see them on me. But I am also all mine, mostly.

Fight until you can’t breathe, & if you have to forfeit, you forfeit smiling, make them think you let them win.”

Playing chess taught me a queen is both: deadly & graceful, poised & ruthless. Quiet & cunning. A queen offers her hand to be kissed, & can form it into a fist while smiling the whole damn time.

Can you be from a place you have never been? You can find the island stamped all over me, but what would the island find if I was there? Can you claim a home that does not know you, much less claim you as its own?

Dreams are like the pieces of fluff that get caught in your hair; they stand out for a moment, but eventually you wash them away, or long fingers reach in & pluck them out & you appear as what everyone expects.