Princesa

By Mian Anais

Spanish was my first language 

The first lullaby I hummed 

My words were sweet 

And child sized 

Soft as a whisper 

Papi was the one who taught me, 

Showed me how words could hold me 

when the world felt too big 

He called me Princesa 

Like he saw something holy 

in my little hands 

When he couldn’t give me the world 

He gave me a crown instead 

Papi wasn’t blood, 

but he was mine. The man who stitched himself into my story, 

left me Anais as a middle name 

Like he was leaving a piece of himself behind 

When the world threatened to tear me away 

he pulled me in tighter, 

as if to say, 

Esta es mi hija 

But the border took him 

like a tide 

Sent him back to his county 

Like he didn’t break his back 

For this country 

Deportation is the kind of ache 

that seeps through walls, 

the kind that leaves you 

grasping for a voice 

you can no longer touch. 

After Papi left 

Spanish felt heavy on my tongue, 

like a song 

I can’t quite remember the words to 

The lullabies I once hummed 

Folded into silence 

Waiting for me 

The world I knew shifted entirely 

And trauma sat weighing of my chest 

Until the language unraveled in my hands 

But maybe I didn’t lose his language 

Maybe it settled deep into my bones 

A reminder of what was stolen from me 

One day i’ll gather the words again

Hold them on my tongue 

Without fear

Or a cracking in my voice 

And when I do 

I’ll speak them  for him 

Even when my words are awkward and imperfect 

I will remember what my Papi taught me 

I’ll remember his words 

Te amo mucho mi Princesa

By Mian Anais