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.

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:

dando a luz giving to light.

He must have realized his laugh was like one of those paper shredders making a sad confetti of my hopes. He did not apologize.

I wrap myself tight around the feelings I cannot share, an unopened present, a gift no one wants.

when I need a reminder the world is bigger than the one I know, & its currents are always moving; when I need a reminder there is a life for me beyond the water & that one day I will not be left behind.

A king who built an empire so I’d have a throne to inherit.

if the game taught me one thing, it’s once you lift a pawn off the board, you have to move it forward. It cannot return where it was.

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

I’m afraid if I close my eyes I will have accepted his will never open again. It is a losing battle;

There have been no survivors found from flight 1112.

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.

I come from people who are no longer alive. My grandparents, my parents.

The kindness of a stranger, simply because she sees in us something worthy of this small gift.

On the days I wake up with smooth palms I’m angry at myself. There should be no breaks from this grief. Not even in sleep.

If you are not from an island, you cannot understand what it means to be of water: to learn to curve around the bend, to learn to rise with rain, to learn to quench an outside thirst while all the while you grow shallow until there is not one drop left for you. I know this is what Tía does not say. Sand & soil & sinew & smiles: all bartered. & who reaps? Who eats? Not us. Not me.

The patron saint of the ocean is known for containing many parts of herself: she is a nurturer, but she is also a ferocious defender. & so I remember that to walk this world you must be kind but also fierce.

All these lies that we’ve all swallowed, they’re probably rotting in our stomachs.

I was an aspiration, a flame he wanted to kiss. But for her, he would have lit the entire island.

I know a man can have many faces & speak out of both sides of his mouth; I know a man can make decisions based on the flip of a coin; a man can be real good at long division, give away piece after piece after piece of himself.

What are arms in the water if not wings?

I have my fingerprints all over you. & I don’t need the world to see them to know that they’re there.”

I love you. You are the only thing that does not hurt.

Who is thinking about a birthday when they’re thinking about a funeral? What could I want? What could I want?

what you know wouldn’t sweeten a cup of tea.”

not worthy to bite the flea that bites a stray.

How bittersweet a realized dream can be flavored.

divide a piece of God from my heart for her to carry. I know she does the same for me.

Ancestors, as always, I write to you / for you / with you, carrying the utmost love and reverence. Thank you for wedging open so many doorways that have led to my wildest dreams; I promise to continue walking through them.