Memory of my people (Memoria de mi gente)

On February 14, 2001, I came to Melbourne to study at Monash for three years.  Well, it has been 10 years...and I never left Monash!  Although this poem from my Dad’s book Under the Shadow (Sombrabajo) reflects once again the melancholy that accompanied him through life, I want to share it as a way to celebrate the most wonderful ten years of my life.

Memory of my people (Memoria de mi gente)

I remember my people, our people,

the people who have a place in my memory;

I remember my own; those who shared

my table, our table, the common backyard, our roof,

the years that passed.  I remember those who walked long distances in life

with me, with us

without knowing it, as if it happened the way it happened  

just because it was meant to happen that way.

I reconstruct them in the daily question

of “how are you today?”,

with genuine interest in hearing “I’m fine, thank you”,

before walking away,

it does not matter, in separate ways.

Each did their own chores

but there was always a common task, friendship,

getting closer, sharing joy,

frivolous sorrows and

those that leave a footprint.

Unity in the labyrinth of the city

and in the serenity of the gentle sun in the countryside,

amongst the roses in the family garden,

and in the distance of travels and the messenger postcards

the harmony of different lives.

Every instant dilutes the reserve a little,

what remains of earthly possessions.

But my people never cared about saving themselves,

always the same, just like before.

A wealth of energy spilled from them

unlimited like in every beginning.

Death took each of them without asking

the uninhabited days and the remaining ones

and us suddenly;

and when it took the old grandmother we protested

and when it took the youngest one, always, always.

Memory is a way to renew

old, denied companies.