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Picture
Latinos de Alaska al ritmo del mariachi / Alaskan Latinos singing mariachi.

La memoria se estremece
Por Lorena Medina Martínez

La memoria: espejo del recuerdo.
En la distancia, la tierra de la que uno está hecho tiene otro peso,
uno inconmensurable.
En la distancia, la tierra de la que viene uno tiene otra sensación,
una impostergable.
Desde la distancia y a pesar de ella, la tierra de uno resuena y retumba,
remueve corazones, conciencias, miedos, experiencias.
Desde la distancia y a pesar de ella, la tierra de uno trae a flote los recuerdos,
y remueve lo que la memoria cautelosamente quiere olvidar.
Y la memoria se estremece.

19 de septiembre… Ocurrió otra vez.
La angustia se presentó aterradora en la distancia.
Los muchos que habitamos tierras lejanas,
recibimos la estrepitosa noticia allende el México añorado.
Hicimos una pausa.
Se escuchó un ácido silencio en el destierro.  
Nos hicimos preguntas entre el temor y la esperanza,
presentimos una respuesta entre el sobresalto y la fe.
Y nuestra memoria se estremeció.
 
Ocurrió otra vez.
Un sismo dejó su huella en el territorio mexicano.
Un sismo cimbró también en el México lejano,
el México de sus migrantes que habitan tierras remotas,
el México de Atlanta, de Canadá, de España, de Los Ángeles,
de Chicago, de Alaska.

En la distancia, los afligidos corazones comparten unión y desconsuelo,
en asombrosas mezclas de caminos paralelos y perpendiculares.
Los migrantes convergen y cruzan sus caminos
encuentran cobijo mutuo en sus historias enlazadas,
se descubren en calles lejanas.
Mexicanos en países donde el horizonte se tiñe en verdes, blancos y rojos
que expanden los límites de la lejanía.

En los muchos Méxicos construidos en lejanía,
los inmigrantes recorren su memoria para no olvidar
Que en los confines del mundo el dolor no es menos
Que en la ausencia y a pesar de ella,
la memoria se estremece.
The Quivering Memory
By Lorena Medina Martínez

Memory: A mirror of recollection
In the distance, the soil that one is composed of has another weight.
It is immeasurable.
In the distance, the soil that one comes from has another sensation.
It is unavoidable.
From the distance, and despite it, earth resonates and rumbles
Removing our hearts, conscience, fears, and experiences.
From the distance, and despite it, one’s land raises questions about memory,
and removes that which our memory would cautiously like to forget.
And memory quivers.

On September 19, it happened again.
Anguish presented itself terrifying in the distance.
The many of us who inhabit in far away lands,
Received the deafening news from the Mexico we yearn for .
We paused.
A bitter silence was heard among the exiles.
We asked questions between fear and hope.
We anticipated a response between shock and faith,
And our memory quivered.

It happened again.
An earthquake left its footprint on Mexican soil, and as well
In far away Mexico,
The Mexico living in remote lands through its migrants
The Mexico of Atlanta, of Canada, of Spain, of Los Angeles, of Chicago, of Alaska.


In the distance, the afflicted hearts share grief and unity,
Where parallel and perpendicular paths amazingly join,
Where migrants converge and cross
They find the shared blanket of intertwined histories
They find each other in distant roads.
Mexicans in countries where the horizon is stained in greens, whites, and reds
Expanding the borders of distance.

In the many Mexicos created far away,
Migrants go back to their memories to avoid forgetting
That in the corners of the world pain is not dimmed,
That in the absence and despite it,
Memory quivers.

Translation by Nicolas Dirksen

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Sol de Medianoche is a monthly publication of the Latino community in Anchorage, Alaska