La Yanqui Argentina
I grew up
equal parts Asado and Fourth of July BBQs
siesta and rush hour traffic,
mate and Starbucks Coffee.
I am a Yanqui Argentina.
My first ever Messi jersey from Abuela
immortalized at eight months old
in a wide-mouthed mid-squeal 2005 photograph.
The same Jersey is now on my terrier’s back.
He is as Latino as me,
howling just as loud
with each golazo scored in Qatar.
I adopted my parents’ culture
in a country where they weren't born.
I am from the land of Hollywood and lockers
to the teens who work in yerba fields,
and the red-dusted world of “che”
to those who hear unspanish words from
this guaina golondrina.
Bailes de bachata in the living room; Cumbia,
Charango, Chacarera y Tango,
Chamamé and Cash.
Down, down, down,
to tierra del fuego.
There, my hair gets curly again.
I was sent to school
knowing no English.
“Mami, la maestra es tan linda…
pero no entiendo nada lo que dice”
I look as white as Elmer’s glue. I am Latina.
Soy la Yanqui Argentina.
