On Leaving | On Staying Behind Diana Garcia (bio) On Leaving I can run five times around the village, my dog beside me. I have testedmyself against her speed, my younger cousins’ endurance. I win. My cousins go with me this morning, their dark hair glossy, so youngtheir shoulders. Their mothers tell me to watch over them. I have said goodbye to all who remain, grayed village elders,wooden statues of saints in our small church, my mother. I go with the blessings of my mother and her sisters. I am the youngestof the girl cousins, no great beauty, no wealth to keep me here. I wear only what I have. I carry a blouse one aunt gave me,a friend’s old sandals for days when heat persists into the night. My cousins who have made the journey send this advice: travel earlyin the morning and at night. When you reach the trains, gain a space in the middle; don’t move. Don’t let anyone steal your space. When wereach Mexico, we are to look for coyotes wearing yellow bandanas, not red or green. Those wearing yellow come from our region,they speak our language, they are known to our village. If no one waits at the border wearing yellow, we wait or takeour chances. I have waited two years for this chance. No more. [End Page 11] If the coyotes separate me from my two cousins, mis primasinstruct me to let them take what they will, but not my life, never my life. They think I don’t know what they mean. I know what a mancan take from a woman. I know my younger cousins’ pride. I will protect them from their pride, our family honor. I will screamor fight if I can. I will run if I can. I know now how fast I can run. On Staying Behind She thinks I don’t know why she runs. Not to catch the trainsor escape la migra or outrun packs of wild dogs. I listened to the advice her cousins sent, the older girl cousins, married,hard-working girls who left our village with their husbands. The journey is harsh, more than two weeks if she’s lucky.So many dangers, only two younger male cousins to protect her. My daughter has no husband. She cannot stay with me. I willnot have her stay with me to starve. She leaves with no wealth. She and her cousins are their own wealth. I see the strengthin their arms and shoulders, blood that pumps through heart and lungs. No water, no beans or corn. Today, the woman studying our village,una profe de los estados unidos, spilled our pot of beans. This woman has never known hunger. I saw her shock when I siftedbeans from dirt, placed beans, dirt, the bit of water I had planned to use for grinding the last dried corn. What is a little dirt, I thought, the same dirtin which I grew these beans. A child should not see a mother starve to death. [End Page 12] A mother should not hear that her last daughter has disappeared.I bless this last child, daughter of my heart, the one I hoped would wrap my body in a serape and lay me next to her fatherat the edge of the church yard. I bless her journey, wishing her safe passage, fleet journey. I have said my prayersto the village saints. I have eaten my small meal. I will lay myself alongside her dog tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, more foodwill come my way. Again, I stay behind. I will wait and hope. [End Page 13] Diana Garcia Diana Garcia is a professor and codirector of the Creative Writing and Social Action Program at California State University, Monterey Bay. Her collection of poetry When Living Was a Labor Camp is an American Book Award Winner. She coedited Fire and Ink: An Anthology of Social Action Writing. Copyright © 2014 University of Nebraska Press
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