the ones who really drove me crazy 

the girls with whom I wanted everything, all wrote. 

 

Mamá did up to second grade and never 

looked at my homework, couldn’t 

colour in a map with me or help me 

with my algebra. 

 

School and home were 

a broken chain through my head 

Every time I saw her signing something - 

my primary school report, 

a document at the bank - 

I noticed she was doing it slowly 

like someone recovering from a blow 

 

I ask myself if the women I loved 

the ones who really drove me crazy 

the girls with whom I wanted everything 

were my intellectual upward mobility 

 

if choosing women who write 

is to cover up that thing I lack 

every time I leave them 

or they leave me.