Tía Solana Character Analysis

the crowd outside our little teal house expands.

People stand there in shorts and caps,
in thong sandals, the viejos held up by their bastones,

they shuffle onto the balcón,
they wrap their fingers around the barred fence,
they watch & wait & watch & wait an unrehearsed vigil.

& they pray & I try not to suffocate
under all the eyes that seem to be expecting
me to tear myself out of my skin.

Even when he came to visit
this house he paid for & updated,
Papi treated Tía like an older sister:

so much respect for how she kept the house,
for the beliefs she had,
the decisions she made regarding my well-being.

They were friends. But until this moment
I have not thought of what she’s lost.
He was like her brother. Besides me, her only family.

If you are not from an island,
you cannot understand
what it means to be of water:

to learn to curve around the bend,
to learn to rise with rain,
to learn to quench an outside thirst

while all the while
you grow shallow
until there is not one drop

left for you.

I know this is what Tía does not say.

Sand & soil & sinew & smiles:
all bartered. & who reaps? Who eats?

Not us. Not me.

Things you can buy
with half a million dollars:

a car that looks more
like a space creature than a car.

[…]

Five hundred flights
to the Dominican Republic.

A half million Dollar Store chess sets,
with their accompanying boxes.

A hundred thousand copies
of Shakespeare’s The Tempest.

Apparently a father.

I’m the child her father left her for in the summers.
While she is the child my father left me for my entire life.
I do not want to hate a girl with a glowing name.

But I cannot help the anger planted in my chest, fanning
its palm leaves wide & casting a shadow on all I’ve known.
I wonder what kind of girl learns she is almost a millionaire

& doesn’t at all wonder about the girl across the ocean
she will be denying food. Tuition. A dream.
Unless she doesn’t know about me.

It is strange to go from being an only child
to seeing someone wearing your own face.
Now there is this other person & supposedly she is my sister

where yesterday she was just a name
holding the future I thought I wanted;
now there is a girl of blood & flesh who is

second only to Tía as the closest thing I have to family.

I want to offer her platitudes & murmurs
that it will all be all right. But thing is,
this isn’t an uncommon story.

A lot of people don’t finish school
or follow their dreams. That fairy-tale plotline is for
telenovelas.

I don’t want to be brisk. It almost hurts me to look
into her wide, soft eyes & ask for so much.
But her softness has nothing to do with the desperation

I feel growing inside me. After Papi’s burial
I will have to leave this place. There is nothing
for me in this town where I see my exit doors growing smaller.

The ceremony we had for Papi in New York
is nothing compared to what is planned in DR.

Tía and Camino arrange an entire party.
Mami looks on disapprovingly

as a band of men in white show up with drums
& tambourines, & it’s a good thing the grave site

isn’t too far from the church because dozens
& dozens of people show up, until we’re a blur,

a smudge of people dressed like ash
advancing down the street.

I borrowed a light-colored dress from Camino,
& we walk down the street arm in arm.

People sing songs I don’t know.
I think Papi would have loved us making such a fuss.

[…] & here we are: Tía like a bishop,

slashing her long machete. Mami, the knight with rims. My body
in front of my sister’s body: queens.

Papi, who I know is here too. He did
build that castle he always promised.

the crowd outside our little teal house expands.

People stand there in shorts and caps,
in thong sandals, the viejos held up by their bastones,

they shuffle onto the balcón,
they wrap their fingers around the barred fence,
they watch & wait & watch & wait an unrehearsed vigil.

& they pray & I try not to suffocate
under all the eyes that seem to be expecting
me to tear myself out of my skin.

Even when he came to visit
this house he paid for & updated,
Papi treated Tía like an older sister:

so much respect for how she kept the house,
for the beliefs she had,
the decisions she made regarding my well-being.

They were friends. But until this moment
I have not thought of what she’s lost.
He was like her brother. Besides me, her only family.

If you are not from an island,
you cannot understand
what it means to be of water:

to learn to curve around the bend,
to learn to rise with rain,
to learn to quench an outside thirst

while all the while
you grow shallow
until there is not one drop

left for you.

I know this is what Tía does not say.

Sand & soil & sinew & smiles:
all bartered. & who reaps? Who eats?

Not us. Not me.

Things you can buy
with half a million dollars:

a car that looks more
like a space creature than a car.

[…]

Five hundred flights
to the Dominican Republic.

A half million Dollar Store chess sets,
with their accompanying boxes.

A hundred thousand copies
of Shakespeare’s The Tempest.

Apparently a father.

I’m the child her father left her for in the summers.
While she is the child my father left me for my entire life.
I do not want to hate a girl with a glowing name.

But I cannot help the anger planted in my chest, fanning
its palm leaves wide & casting a shadow on all I’ve known.
I wonder what kind of girl learns she is almost a millionaire

& doesn’t at all wonder about the girl across the ocean
she will be denying food. Tuition. A dream.
Unless she doesn’t know about me.

It is strange to go from being an only child
to seeing someone wearing your own face.
Now there is this other person & supposedly she is my sister

where yesterday she was just a name
holding the future I thought I wanted;
now there is a girl of blood & flesh who is

second only to Tía as the closest thing I have to family.

I want to offer her platitudes & murmurs
that it will all be all right. But thing is,
this isn’t an uncommon story.

A lot of people don’t finish school
or follow their dreams. That fairy-tale plotline is for
telenovelas.

I don’t want to be brisk. It almost hurts me to look
into her wide, soft eyes & ask for so much.
But her softness has nothing to do with the desperation

I feel growing inside me. After Papi’s burial
I will have to leave this place. There is nothing
for me in this town where I see my exit doors growing smaller.

The ceremony we had for Papi in New York
is nothing compared to what is planned in DR.

Tía and Camino arrange an entire party.
Mami looks on disapprovingly

as a band of men in white show up with drums
& tambourines, & it’s a good thing the grave site

isn’t too far from the church because dozens
& dozens of people show up, until we’re a blur,

a smudge of people dressed like ash
advancing down the street.

I borrowed a light-colored dress from Camino,
& we walk down the street arm in arm.

People sing songs I don’t know.
I think Papi would have loved us making such a fuss.

[…] & here we are: Tía like a bishop,

slashing her long machete. Mami, the knight with rims. My body
in front of my sister’s body: queens.

Papi, who I know is here too. He did
build that castle he always promised.