There

I wrote this poem earlier this year after reading House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros. The words and situation are taken directly from the novel, which details a girl's evolving attitude toward the house and street in which she lives (in a nutshell--the novel is really about so much more than that).

There

Before, I can’t remember…
Then Paulina
Keeler
Loomis—the third floor
Then…
Mango Street
We moved a lot
Each time we added one more
Mama Papa Carlos Kiki Nenny Me


The house on Mango Street is ours
Not the house we’d thought we’d get
No rent
No sharing the yard with people downstairs
Don’t worry about making too much noise
No landlord banging on ceiling with a broom
But still… It’s not the house we’d thought we’d get

Mango Street is not the way they told it at all—
It’s small and red with tight steps
Windows so small they’re holding their breath
Crumbling bricks and swollen doors
No yard, only four little elms
Small garage, but we don’t own a car yet
Everyone must share a bedroom—Mama, Papa, Carlos, Kiki, Nenny, and me


You live there?
There…
Paint peeling
Wooden bars
You live there?
It made me feel like nothing.
You live there?
I nodded.

The house on Mango Street is not the house we’d thought we’d get, but
I live there.