Contradictions

I am a contradiction;

a quiet woman listening to the breathing

of her children as they sleep.

I scream and yell at them when awake.

I’m proud of the knowledge

I’ve gained through the years;

ashamed of my ignorance,

hypocrisies, fears.

I seek a god I know little of;

denying his presence in moments of need.

I cry, “I LOVE YOU!”

in raging desire;

a love that’s illusion

like the god that I seek.

I care about friends for the people they are;

yet despise the people

for the friends they are not.

I endure life

with laughter and tears

believing only

in the truth

of my smile.

Notes:

“Contradictions” was first published in Nosotros Anthology: A Collection of Latino Poetry and Graphics from Chicago, Revista Chicano-Riqueña 5, no. 1 (1977), edited by David Hernández, and subsequently published in It’s Not About Dreams (Erato/Poetry, 2014). It is reprinted with permission of Kayla González Huertas.

This poem is part of the portfolio “Salima Rivera: A Chicago Rican Poet.” You can read the rest of the portfolio in the March 2024 issue.

Source: Poetry (March 2024)