The First 100 Days: Fear and Loathing @ the Borderlands: A Poem to Gloria

By Chakira M. Haddock-Lazala



“The U.S.-Mexican border es una herida abierta […] Borders are set up to define the places that are safe and unsafe, to distinguish us from them. A border is a dividing line, a narrow strip along a steep edge. A borderland is a vague and undetermined place created by the emotional residue of an unnatural boundary. It is in a constant state of transition. The prohibited and forbidden are it’s inhabitants.”

– Gloria Anzaldúa, 1982 (Borderlands/La Frontera-The New Mestiza, p.25)

I had a nightmare

couched in a dream

and in it

tiny orange hands

caressed my body


took this bridge

called my Back

and turned me into clay bricks.

He said he’s building a wall

And is using me to build it.

Soy La Frontera.

I am the Borderlands.

Tierra. Firme. Fértil.

He said he’s going to

dig into me

And make an open wound of me.

He said he is going to divide me.


I must




Lo Negro

al Sur. El Peligro.

Lo Blanco

al Norte. Lo Noble.

India de cintura abajo.

Gringa de ceno arriba.

I am Span                                                                                                                                glish


I am America.

I am Mexico.

I am Puerto Rico.

I am Palestine.

I am the Bronx.

I am Occupied.

He says he going to

Surveil my valleys and hills

And excavate

any remnants of

Tierra, barro y mierda

That remain beneath my skin

And color it.

He says he will make me clean.


He says

He is going to put his


Unnatural boundary

In my

vague and undetermined place.

He says he’s going to build a Wall









that exist between

My lobes & legs.

He even says

I’ll let him.

We’ll let him do anything.

He could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot someone.

He can grab me by the pussy.

Dice que es dueño de mi Rio Grande.

He shows me what he plans to


And commands me

to break my own back to do it.

He says he’ll persuade me.

To build his wall

with my own spine

and the dead tongues of mi gente.

“NO more Español”, dice el Trump.

Gloria, you were right….

“Wild tongues can’t be tamed, they can only be cut out.”

You were right Gloria…

“To survive the Borderlands you must live sin fronteras– be a crossroads.”

He says

I’ll be La Muralla.

He says

My people demand it.

This is your American Dream.

We are Dreamers

But this is not a Dream.

We are the Borderlands.

We are Prohibited. Forbidden. Banned.

You. Cannot. Build. A. Wall. Around. Us.

When Matt reached out to see if I’d be interested in contributing to the Psychoanalytic Activist’s First 100 Days of Trump series the first thing I thought was…. ¿¡Como rayos voy a yo expresar lo que siento sobre el maldito Trump este en 500 palabras…y en Ingles, y de manera cuerda?!   How will I express my embodied sense of dread? How do I express my experience of feeling increasingly unsafe in my country, my body and in my identity? Increasingly…split, divided. How do I express my dread of having my language stripped from me (Spanish is my first language)? How do I express my resistance?

I tried to write an intellectual politically radical psychoanalytic piece for you guys….pero, you got a poem instead.

#freespeech #freeassociation #psychoanalysis4thepeople #bilingualism #colonization #decolonizeNOW