This section is my dumping ground for all things Anyély: from the monumental to the most mundane y todo in between that captures my curiosity, or makes me scream. Un lugar pa’to lo que me gusta y lo que no me gusta también. ¡Así que, get ready, dalé!
SOMETHING ENTRE POETRY & PROSE: the power of el chancletazo
Back in the fall of 2023 I had the opportunity to do my first EVER poetry reading! & it was amazing, not just because sharing poetry with the great audience at the South Florida Poetry Journal on our Zoom Poetry Event was incredible, but because experiencing firsthand the inspiring pieces from other poets, with their expressions of life & well-curated words is something I can’t put into words. And I was so inspired I ended up sharing a new poem titled “That Powerful Promise of a Chancletazo” – which because of its bilingual nature could’ve isolated audiences & yet it achieved that elusive connection artists hope for. In my poem the chancletazo, well-known across our Latin cultures, starts with that beloved matriarch resting a hand on her hip & the other high in the air waving the chancleta (flip-flop or sandal) she snatched off her foot; an object with the power to make us do the right thing. A powerful plastic thing responsible for our growing pains as we learned never ever to talk back unless we wanted a chancletazo. And like the poem explains, the “promise” of a chancletazo speaks louder than the chancletazo itself. It is its potentiality coupled with our fear of disappointing our amazing abuelas, tías or older sisters. And, so LA CHANCLETA (or CHANCLA) goes a long way to form who we are, across cultures & over the decades, a this unbreakable bond of discipline & love, and connection between generations strengthen our resolve.
SOMETHING ENTRE POETRY & PROSE: Life According to Walter Mercado
For years, left scared and alone by a mom with a second job, I was nurtured by a superhero with healing powers. Every day his voice flooded our living room spilling through the 1970s RCA Colortrak 25-inch TV, the one encased in an obscene wooden console, the one with the broken dial. But it was stuck on Telemundo which allowed this gentle visitor, like a favorite tío who gives the best hugs, to teach me how to live. Survive. I felt he spoke just to me, despite the millions tuning in to hear his astrological advice. My childhood superhero also had the best capes. But it was when Walter Mercado finally leaned in and looked straight into the camera and said, “¡Aries, hoy es tu día!” that I’d perk up with newfound confidence, tempted to take notes, as I filed everything into my mental Rolodex. He taught me, no matter how crappy things got (and they were awful), to take solace in the flowers, feel every raindrop, and pluck energy from the rays of sun. And I did. During my darkest moments as a poor, lonely kid raised by a single-mother, Walter Mercado lit the way “con mucho, pero mucho, AMOR.”
SOMETHING ENTRE POETRY & PROSE: La Ventanita
Some think a window is just a window. And I’ll waiger most don’t think about windows at all. But as a Cuban growing up on the streets of Miami (ones not advertised on travel brochures), I formed an all-together different relationship with windows. Many see a window in terms of architecture, as an opening in a home or building that allows light in or to look through. But for me and anyone making Miami their second home from Central and Latin-American or Caribbean nations, a window is so much more. We call it La Ventanita. This little window, this ventanita, is a culture haven not just a structure. If you’ve ever traveled to Miami, you’ve seen these ventanitas at almost every restaurant or bakery. They are crowded, rowdy spaces where exiles, newly-arrived immigrants and the homesick gather to talk politics, enjoy the stifling Miami heat, drink cortaditos and snack on a pastelisto or four. Our ventanita exists to breath life into us. Por esa ventanita no solo se vende comida, y café. La ventanita also sells a sort of identity to the conglomeration of cultures from Centro y Suramerica y el Caribe. All crammed at the city’s ventanitas to order and savor a bit of HOME.
Anyély Writes 