Hummings from the Desert / Tarareos desde el desierto
Alma L. Cárdenas-Rodríguez presents bilingual poems inspired by adversity, nature, and the Book of Habakkuk
Alma L. Cárdenas-Rodríguez presenta poemas bilingües inspirados en la adversidad, la naturaleza y el Libro de Habacuc
Anna's hummingbird (Calypte anna), Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, Ajo, Arizona, 2015. Source: National Park Service
Colibrí de Anna (Calypte anna), Monumento Nacional Organ Pipe Cactus, Ajo, Arizona, 2015. Fuente: National Park Service
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I grew up in a Pentecostal church, in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles, California. One of my favorites was the time of testimonies. It was an open mic-like moment where congregants, mostly women, would share stories of faith and victories that would bring chills to my bones and would help me learn about God beyond the ways that I had experienced to that point. As I got older, I realized that the testimonies felt incomplete because, behind the scenes, there was usually a groaning in the story that was never shared from the pulpit. Everything said from the pulpit was about victory after victory–even during times of what should have been a mourning of the dead.
When my family experienced a transition and breakup from our church community and family in 2019, and we were suddenly met with uncertainty, God's answer to my what-would-be-next question led me back to the Book of Habakkuk. There, God invited me to write the prayers and groanings of what was breaking my heart as I sat with Chapter 1, to write a vision of how my groanings and prayers could be answered as I sat with Chapter 2, and then invited me to journey into discerning what my contribution to being an answer to my groanings and prayers with God and comunidad could be like. Soon after, as life rhythms were interrupted, and nature became my Pastora, it was confirmed that I would be writing, publishing, and sharing a collection of poems that became Groanings from the Desert (Alegría Publishing, 2020). I dedicated this collection of English and Spanish teo-poemas, prayers, and thoughts to the youth and young adults who grew up en la Iglesia, as well as to my daughters Esther and Abigail, so that they’ll always have their mother's account of the groanings, victories, and hopes that many of us do not have from our parents, ancestors, and mentors. Below are five poems from Groanings from the Desert and from the book-in-progress “Taste and See.”
Lioness perched on tree, Ishasha Wilderness Camp, Uganda. Photo: Graham Hobster
¡Mujer!
¡Mujer! I am not more or less than anyone else.
I am brilliant.
I should be listened to for what I have to say,
and not by how I look or what I wear.
I am a mother and wife. These are gifts, not labels.
They don’t give any status quo permission to confine
me to a box, to an end, all be all, or define God’s
purpose for my life.
Made in the image of God.
One of the characteristics of God describes
Him as a lion, el León de Judá.
In the animal kingdom, lions will not survive without
the lioness. She is the hunter. Taking initiative for the
nourishing of her family is in her blood.If women are
made in the image of God, then initiative for the
nourishing of her family is too, in her blood. What mujeres
have to contribute is nourishing for the present and the
porvenir of our families and comunidad.
We are conditioned to believe that happily ever after
happens when the princess finds her prince. But,
happily ever after is something else, it’s so much more.
It is found when exercising our God given gift of taking
initiative, and our God given gift of choice.
It is in the unlocking of our unique voice and encouraging
joy in the midst of the noise, for the
collective well-being of us as a whole.
I stand on the shoulders and wisdom of mujeres like
my mom, las hermanas de la Iglesia, the women of our families,
including some no longer living with us on Earth. They have modeled strength, resilience, faith, truth, and justice with hands and heart.
I have two young girls, and I am so tired of hearing,
“You should shoot for the boy!
Who will carry on the last name?
It will make you whole!”
But I am complete.
I don’t care about carrying the legacy of a last name
from generation to generation,
or fitting the mold of a perfect family full of cultural expectations.
Mujer, may knowing you are made in the image of God,
where you are going as you unpack where you have come from.
Be like a rooster’s crow, whose sound wakes you in the morning,
and ignite in you a new awakening each time.
Wedding Day
I am my own flower girl.
Yellow, red, pink, orange, and green petals
prepare the way for a path which I have decided
for me.
The path leads to an altar,
where I will say yes to my dreams and gifts.
To learning and holding the imperfections of the
history of my community and culture,
which weave me.
It is not picture perfect.
Creation are my guests and witnesses.
For the first time in my life
I am owning my strengths, art, and beliefs,
even when they are constantly shut down
for being idealistic and too unreal to be.
The altar, a crossroads of my life,
where I will commit not to a man or partner,
my vows are made to me by me.
I promise to love you in success and in failures, in sickness and in health. To receive every blessing just as you have given.
To be a voice of justice for the injustice we have endured together.
To embrace the different phases of yourself, in size 10, 12, 14, or 16.
To strive towards what brings us equity of wealth and health.
To celebrate, without regret, every single victory.
And to mourn in times of loss without keeping your volume down.
To be a voice of affirmation that blurs any sounds of condemnation.
And as you serve your family, friends, and comunidad,
don’t ever again forget about you, that too is serving God.
Dressed in a rebozo, and equally proud
in my skinny jeans at 36 years old,
when some would say you are too old,
“ya se te pasó el tren.”
This is my wedding day,
a commitment in perfect timing to me.
my rendition of a happily ever after, my American dream.
“La abeja maestra se desarrolla en un capullo de cera. Luego lo roe y sale afuera. [The queen bee develops in a wax cocoon. Then she gnaws it and goes outside].” Foto: Dr. Beekeeper
Maestra Abeja
Cuando el corazón humano se siente pesado
y se encierra de su quehacer,
la naturaleza sale a tomar espacio,
a trabajar en lo que sabe hacer.
¿Alguna vez has puesto atención al ver a una abeja cuando sale a comer?,
la misma que con su polen a las flores y plantas ayuda a crecer.
La semilla que trajo el viento que en otro paisaje debía florecer,
crece en tierra lejana gracias al trabajo de la abeja,
y brota sin que nada ni nadie la venga a entorpecer.
De las abejas depende el futuro y comer también,
y la Maestra abeja nos deja mucho que aprender:
si como humanidad nos nutrimos mutuamente como la abeja a las semillas,
y ella de las plantas y flores,
aún cuando el viento nos ha traído desde diferentes paisajes.
Panorama of Hoodoos in Bryce Canyon National Park, Utah, 2006. Photo: Jonathan Zander
Repent and Be Saved
Repent and be saved were words
I heard repeatedly growing up.
Tract in hand, I saw my Protestant Latina church family
say this to people in our community.
We were encouraged to repeat them to friends and family,
especially those who were not part of the
“goes to church on Sunday band.”
Everyone, including me, was a lost soul
in need of repentance and saving.
But now I wonder if we were the ones
misrepresenting God and misbehaving.
This thought, however, brings me to another point.
What if the only soul that needs to repent and be saved
is my own home?
The country that saw me grow,
the soul of the United States.
What if the souls in need of repentance and saving
are its people, countries, and faith communities
that adopted your ways?
As if it was something normal,
and something sane.
Who’ve drunk your pills like vitamins
to result in strong bones.
But all you are is an eye sore,
a rotting collection of dry bones
and hoarded horror stories not completely told.
United States, the country I have called home.
I wonder if you are the soul that needs to repent and be saved,
to one day truly be a land of the free
and home of the healthy and sane.
Cuando un tarro (frasco) se destapa
Cuando un tarro (frasco) se destapa, se hace con
la confianza de que la etiqueta de afuera indica lo
que hay adentro.
Foto: Katarzyna Modrzejewska
Dicho envase usualmente contiene un alimento,
sin embargo, puede ser más bien que expulse un olor
que nos indica que ya pasó su tiempo.
Pero, a veces, el contenido se deja salir igual que
una planta que estaba doblada por mucho tiempo;
pareciera haber crecido más alta y amplia
del espacio que le dieron por dentro.
Como una mujer que ha vivido encorvada
por mucho tiempo, y le ofrecen la posibilidad
de estirarse, ver y caminar como siempre
lo tuvo que haber hecho: de pie.
Como algo nunca antes visto: un milagro.
Si la vida, la voz y los sueños
se dejarán destapar de un tarro,
¿qué revelaría lo que está por dentro?,
¿cuál sería su milagro?
O qué tal si miráramos a un tarro,
más allá de la envoltura y la etiqueta;
¿cuál sería su hermoso regalo y legado?
Foto: Hannes/HaKoPhoto
Taste & See / Percibe y Ve
A dialogue with Mark 2:21-22
21. No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth to an old cloak; otherwise, the patch pulls away from it, the new from the old, and a new tear is made.
What if the old cloak has been stretched to its total capacity?
Or what if some holes are meant to reveal, and not be concealed?
Because what if their time was coming to an end, and one last lamb would soon be slain?
For a new generation of vessels to take the wineskins' place…
Clay pots, wooden barrels, stainless steel, concrete tanks, and glass bottles,
You and I?
21. Nadie pone un remiendo de tela nueva en un vestido viejo, porque entonces el remiendo al encogerse tira de él, lo nuevo de lo viejo, y se produce una rotura peor.
¿Qué tal si el vestido viejo se ha estirado a su máxima capacidad?
¿O que si algunas roturas son para revelar y no para ocultar?
¿Que tal si su tiempo estaba llegando a un final, porque un último cordero sería inmolado?
Para darle lugar a una generación de vasijas nuevas que tomarían el lugar de los odres...
Contenedores de barro, barriles de madera, tanques de acero o concreto, y envases de vidrio, tú y yo?
Source/fuente: LaForgeDhalatte, Etsy
22. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; Otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is lost, and so are the skins; but one puts new wine into fresh new wineskins.
A wine that some have said, was straight out of Galilee.
From the lowly and despised.
How much longer will we conform to the loss of a new generation of vessels and their wine?
When will we give ourselves permission to get past our minds
and into our senses to smell, taste, and see,
when a wine is not vintage, but expired past its time?
22. Y nadie echa vino nuevo en odres viejos, porque entonces el vino romperá el odre, y se pierde el vino y también los odres; sino que se echa vino en odres nuevos.
Un vino que algunos han dicho, se hacía en Galilea.
De lo vil y menospreciado, probablemente no asimilado.
¿Cuánto tiempo más estaremos conformes con la pérdida (desperdicio) de generaciones de vasijas y vinos nuevos?
¿Cuando nos daremos el permiso de salirnos de la mente, y conectar con nuestros sentidos?
Para ver, oler, y probar cuando un vino no es añejo, y tener la certeza de que ya ha expirado.
