To live in the Borderlands means you

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by Gloria Anzaldúa*

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are neither hispana india negra española
ni gabacha, eres mestiza, mulata, half-breed caught in the crossfire between camps
while carrying all five races on your back
not knowing which side to turn to, run from;

To live in the Borderlands means knowing
that the india in you, betrayed for 500 years,

 

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is no longer speaking to you,
that mexicanas call you rajetas,
that denying the Anglo inside you
is as bad as having denied the Indian or Black;

 

Cuando vives en la frontera

people walk through you, the wind steals your voice, you’re a burra, buey, scapegoat,
forerunner of a new race,

half and half —both woman and man, neither— a new gender;

 

To live in the Borderlands means to put chile in the borscht,

eat whole wheat tortillas,
speak Tex-Mex with a Brooklyn accent;
be stopped by la migra at the border checkpoints;

 

Living in the Borderlands means you fight hard to resist the gold elixir beckoning from the bottle, the pull of the gun barrel,
the rope crushing the hollow of your throat;

 

In the Borderlands
you are the battleground

where the enemies are kin to each other; you are at home, a stranger,
the border disputes have been settled
the volley of shots have shattered the truce you are wounded, lost in action

dead, fighting back;

 

To live in the Borderlands means
the mill with the razor white teeth wants to shred off your olive-red skin, crush out the kernel, your heart pound you pinch you roll you out
smelling like white bread but dead;

 

To survive the Borderlands
you must live sin fronteras

be a crossroads.

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* Taken from, Borderlands-La Frontera. The New Mestiza(San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books, 1987), pp. 194-195. Copyright © 1987, 1999 by Gloria Anzaldúa.