Please forgive me for being forward as I know this is an intimate question, but I would very much like to know what books are on your bedside table right now, like right this very moment.
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But then the movie ends. The lights go on. Somebody picks us up - our shoes and legs heavy and dangling like dead people - carries us in the cold to the car that smells like ashtrays. Black and white, black and white lights behind our closed eyelids, until by now we’re awake but it’s nice to go on pretending with our eyes shut because here’s the best part. Mama and Papa lift us out of the backseat and carry us upstairs to the third-floor front where we live, take off our shoes and clothes, and cover us, so when we wake up, it’s Sunday already, and we’re in our beds and happy.
sandra cisneros, 'mexican movies', from woman hollering creek and other stories
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“What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel like eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are—underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.”
—“Eleven”, Sandra Cisneros, from Woman Hollering Creek
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This was my first Sandra Cisneros (which is a crying shame) and It. Was. Gorgeous. I listened to all the poetry and all the short stories with hungry ears, I never got tired of any of it. The way she writes and speaks, sensual, passionate, raw, emotional, humourous, really made me crave her words and seek them out during my day. Stories of family, love, sex, latine identity, the idea of home, connection to nature. It's just so great! The writing is so vivid and thoughtful and grounded and intense and it made me capital F Feel from beginning to end. I love it when a book sits in my gut like this. I just loved this collection very much.
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"Woman Hollering Creek" by Sandra Cisneros
Sandra Cisneros is a magician with a pen. She crafts stories and characters that live your brain for months and captures a humanity like few others. "Woman Hollering Creek" a is a short story from a larger collection Woman Hollering Creek and Other Stories and I frankly recommend reading the whole collection, but I wanted to put a quick focus onto this one in particular.
This story is about a young woman who came to America from Mexico with her husband and faces abuse from her husband and isolation from her culture and everything she knows. This story is a wonderful view on culture, both regarding the culture around abuse and Mexican culture.
This story took me on a whirlwind of emotions, and I held my breath so tightly for one part that I nearly got lightheaded! But I absolutely cried a bit at the end and found myself rereading again and again because of how beautiful and well written it is.
Be aware of the domestic violence that is featured, and please take care of yourself in reading.
Go read this story! And if you can, go get the whole book!
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Beautiful, you said. You said I was beautiful, and when you said it, I was.
Sandra Cisneros, from Woman at Hollering Creek: Stories; “Never Marry a Mexican”
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Beautiful, you said. You said I was beautiful, and when you said it, I was.
Sandra Cisneros, from Woman at Hollering Creek: Stories; “Never Marry a Mexican”
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In the clatter of your departures,
I write poems.
— Sandra Cisneros, "My Nemesis Arrives After a Long Hiatus"
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Beautiful, you said. You said I was beautiful, and when you said it, I was.
Sandra Cisneros, from Woman at Hollering Creek: Stories; “Never Marry a Mexican”
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Beautiful, you said. You said I was beautiful, and when you said it, I was.
Sandra Cisneros, from Woman at Hollering Creek: Stories; “Never Marry a Mexican”
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Beautiful, you said. You said I was beautiful, and when you said it, I was.
Sandra Cisneros, from Woman at Hollering Creek: Stories; “Never Marry a Mexican”
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Beautiful, you said. You said I was beautiful, and when you said it, I was.
Sandra Cisneros, from Woman at Hollering Creek: Stories; “Never Marry a Mexican”
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