Begging for my attention
she was dressed in red like fire and roses and watermelon in July
Like the man who took a bite out of a pomegranate like it was an apple
she wore marigolds around her neck like I did when I was five
Like my mother did on the day she got married
she wore the ones in the Kainchi garden where I sat and tasted the sweetness of mangoes for the first time with my best friend
Where we chased each other into the terra-cotta pagoda hearing the faint chants of kirtan wallahs and cow bells
In monsoon season we would venture down the unpaved road in our bright pink rainboots to get toast from the Tawaris
piled up to my head and wrapped in crinkled tinfoil
She was blue like the dye from my skirt that would run into the river
She had warm hands like the milk she gave me in her garden, my hands have always been cold
I am in a house without her while it’s snowing outside and all I have is a child’s blanket to keep me warm
I miss you
I hope you’re doing ok
I can’t wait to see you again
Talk soon,
Lila
Her hair was always white like the temple walls
The ones I was a devi under
The ones I ate halwa and basin ladus out of a banana-leaf bowl under
She always reminded me of the trees during monsoon season, so big and full of life, the kind of life I didn’t see in New York
that’s probably what I remember the most about India how comic book green all the trees were and when we were driving around a bend and I looked down all I could see were those Technicolor trees for miles and miles
Sometimes I wonder when I’ll go back and how it will feel now that she’s no longer there
Poetic Forms and Dance Steps: A Sonnet
This attempt of a Shakespearean sonnet was started in the Poetic Forms workshop at Girls Write Now, in which I was challenged to follow the rules. I was inspired by the freedom with which those rules were rejected by our fearless mentees.
Surely men made up the poetic forms
Sonnet, sestina, villanelle, cinquain
Like boys and drinking games in college dorms
How ’bout: Five tercets and then a quatrain
Repeat this word, third stanza, second line
How low can you go, can you go down low?
So I chafe and resist those rules assigned
Who counts the syllables? And also: no.
It’s not the words with which I so quarrel
But arbitrary, patriarchal rules
The art confounds me. Wherefore the laurels
Would women create such confining tools?
You and I, let’s create our new bounty
Let’s write lines as if no one is counting
Lawless. Unburdened. Free.
MEDELIN CUEVAS
YEARS AS MENTEE: 3
GRADE: Senior
HIGH SCHOOL: H.E.R.O. High School
BORN: Bronx, NY
LIVES: Bronx, NY
PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Scholastic Art & Writing Awards: Silver Key
MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: When I first met Rakia, I knew that she was the perfect fit for being my mentor. She is smart, talented, and genuine when it comes to my writing and other life events. When I told her about NYU, she was ecstatic! It is great to share your biggest dream with someone who watched you grow, and Rakia has been the greatest mentor for me.
RAKIA CLARK
YEARS AS MENTOR: 2
OCCUPATION: Senior Editor, Beacon Press
BORN: Atlantic City, NJ
LIVES: New York, NY
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: I remember when Maddy showed up to our weekly session more excited and bubbly than usual. She had just received her first admissions letter to college—NYU, of all places. I was so proud of her, I could barely stand it. I have seen Maddy work incredibly hard to make herself a great candidate for college, all while balancing a busy home life. More acceptance letters quickly followed, but that first one was the sweetest.
A Letter to My Unborn Daughter
For me, Generation F stands for freedom, fearless, and faithful. Going through high school, I never thought I was “free enough” to do certain things. This piece holds a sentimental value to me because I cover things I want my future daughter to know and to take away.
Dear Daughter,
I was not the type of girl who hung around with girls. Like, girls who played with Barbie dolls all day long or pretended to be princesses. I was not the girl who was into skirts and Twinkle Toe shoes as a kid. Your uncle was too big of an influence on me for that sort of thing. Instead, he and I played first-person shooter video games on the computer, and I was wide receiver to his quarterback when we played football. You could say l colored outside the lines.
Baby girl, when you come into this world, you will be going through a lot of bumps and cracks and learn a lot of fascinating things. You will learn what you like, set your biggest dreams, take your first steps, and learn how the world works and who you are as a person. I hope you see the world in the most blissful way any child would see it: blue skies, sunny rays of sunshine beaming on your beautiful skin, and happy moments.
However, life will not be all gumdrops and rainbows. You are going to experience people who do not want to see you prosper. You will encounter evil serpents called bullies who will tease you for characteristics that you should cherish, like your big imagination and your beautiful curls, and the butterfly birthmark that you share with me, your tia and your abuelita.
You are what Alicia Keys describes as “A girl on fire” or “a superwoman,” which means a woman with potential and high hopes—a woman who has a high level of charisma, competence, and optimism. With these talents, I hope you think like a revolutionist who seeks to change the world for the better and make a positive difference. Baby girl, shine! Shine like Celia Cruz, Sonia Sotomayor, Michelle Obama, Ilia Calderon, Angela Davis, and even me, tu madre. Whatever you experience,