I cannot write. All I do is watch my caged goldfinch and listen to his brave little song. I have discovered injustice, but what good is a witness who cannot testify? I am silent. Useless. My voice has vanished. Will I ever learn how to sing on paper? Tula My indoor world of walls grows so quiet that I have to create my own noise. I recite Heredia’s poems of justice out loud. Mamá calls me a land of extremes. My stepfather covers his ears. Do they imagine that I enjoy swaying back and forth between moods of flame and ice? If only I could be calm, like my bird, who waits all night for morning sun. If only I could be someone else. Tula Opinions. Ideas. Possibilities. So many! How can I choose? Between bursts of lightning-swift energy, I enjoy peaceful moments when the whole world seems to be a flowing river of verse and all I have to do is learn how to swim. During those times, I find it so easy to forget that I’m just a girl who is expected to live without thoughts.
