Will my hands be as thick as hers were?  

Silver bands, 24k gold rings, garnets, pearls  

swallow my fingers  

I am a child again   

 

I have Abuela’s few diamonds  

but not her thick hands  

her rings clink together  

 

I have to keep my palms up, surrendering  

In order to keep them from slipping  

 

I chewed down my red acrylics  

I can’t stand them  

 

Mama sighs  

                      What have I done to my hair? 

Chopped, dyed, shaved 

hoping that something other  

than a woman will appear  

But the something never emerges  

                       It’s time to let the hair grow back 

 

What have I returned to?  

I have my mother’s face  

My father’s eyebrows  

Abuela’s nose  

Nothing is mine  

 

All these things adorn me  

But feel as if they come from somewhere else  

 

The rings fall off so easily  

Like womanhood  

They’re so easy to take off but not let go