¿Soy Yo La Malinche? a group poem by Las Man@s Concept and anchor poem by Marisa Castuera SCENE OPENS WITH ALL THREE ON STAGE CLOAKED LIKE WITCHES IN SOFT LIGHT Girl#1: La Malinche walks between worlds. Girl #2: “The indígena woman given to Cortes by her own people. He took her as a translator and concubine.”  Girl #3: She means something different to everybody: G1: whore G2: savior G3: lover G1: victim..traitor….. G3: mother of México  G2: the mix of Indian and Spanish… G1: She’s got her own story to tell… G3: about what it was to carve out a space for herself between all the names that other people call her.  G2: This was centuries ago, but…. LIGHTS UP BEHIND SCREEN WHERE BUS SCENE IS BEING SILENTLY ACTED OUT IN SHADOWS) G1: Yesterday on the city bus, a man looked at me like I was his to keep. And I can see being taken and forced and never feeling whole again. How can I explain why except to say that this has happened to me, in this lifetime? That someone huge and silent felt entitled to me, that my people folded the loss of me into their daily rhythm and never came for me? I am still waiting for someone to sound out that cry  of injustice, of a people pushed too far, and lead the rally to come back for me.  The small country of my body has its own borders, its own terrain, its own beauty and natural disasters. Mapmakers have come and gone, named and claimed my shores and plains and valleys. I’m reclaiming, rebuilding, from the invaders, the bearers of flags who “discovered” me. Well, they can all fuck off because I wasn’t theirs to discover. I already inhabited these lands. What is it about men—ignoring what’s already living and thriving in a place and deciding they’re the first to set foot there. The ones entitled to draw up the codices, treaties and constitutions. Don’t screw me and call it a democracy, don’t rob me and say you’re doing me a favor, don’t mine me until I’m a wasteland and say I caused my own poverty with my backwardsness, and don’t be angry when I don’t smile and invite you back with open arms and a banda of mariachis. The conquest of one body, the conquest of 12, of 40, of 40,000. what is it about men? But that’s just sometimes, in the quiet dark of my galaxy of anger, that’s not the infinite joy of being held and holding on with real love entre los brazos. ¿Soy yo La Malinche? All three voices: Am I La Malinche? MIDDLE PIECE-TO BE DONE ROUGHLY MID-WAY THROUGH SHOW TO BREAK UP MOOD-ALSO PERFORMED WITH SHADOW SCENE BEHIND WHITE SCRIM G3: My sister asked me today if I was a lesbian. It wasn’t an out of the blue, by the way, Hey, are you gay? They’ve definitely talked about it before. Monique, mom, and Renee The woman of my family minus me hypothesizing on my sexuality Spreadin’ rumors, sharin’ stories, and makin’ her-story. Are you a lesbian, Geneviève? Or was that subscription to Out magazine that I received at our old address, with your name on the label, enough said? My sister’s questions and comments catch me off guard. Have I been giving off loud beeps on people’s gay-dars? Pretty crazy to think about and even crazier to live in a world full of labels and boxes and lids Trapping you into a certain definition not allowing you to move amongst communities and transition. So to fight this wrap-you-up, string tight, labels licked, and placed on right, crazy boxed-up, boxed-in way of life, Meet in the streets, join hands, and shout loud, If you love rainbows it can mean that you’re gay and you’re proud. And it can also mean that you love rainbows. Am I la Malinche? All: Am I la Malinche? CLOSING SCENE TO BE DONE BEFORE FINALE DANCE PIECE HOPEFULLY BY WARRIOR WOMEN AND MAYBE THIS COMES ON RIGHT AFTER B-GIRLS! WANT SOME SORT of VIDEO EFFECTS LOOKING LIKE SPRAY PAINT COMING OUT AND THEN LIGHTS UP ON A DOPE BURNER OR WILD STYLE PIECE READING OUT “LUCHA ONE” G2: Tomorrow I know we will find a way through this haze This hungry maze of white walls  That’s grown to reach every coast,  Greedy, eating at our seams Filling with the ghosts of displaced dreams My work is not sacrifice (she motions to the wildstyle burner on the wall behind her spelling out Lucha One) Es mi ofrenda This emerald jewel of my mind I let shine like a mountain lake in the moonlight  I cannot dwell on the strife of life. My truth is a star-filled sky drowned out by artificial lights  So, I organize labor strikes and  Fights for land rights I riot in the streets When the cloak of false reality is removed from  This so-called democracy  And the people see this system is not really designed for us to be free But laws designed to keep colonizing our minds Like history on rewind Keep us blind And trapped in prime time To serve time or die of disease Paying for their crimes  With our broken lives And cracked memories But I struggle to become me Piece by piece we set ourselves free Paint dreams on walls and Refuse to walk like sheep Through their dark halls They can’t make me forget who I am  And what I can become Yo soy LuchaOne  Am I la Malinche? All: Am I la Malinche? All three: G1: Now THAT I WALK THIS WORLD WITH FIERCE CERTAINTY I SAY all 3: bring it on.   G3: Not in a White-boy-George-Bush kind of way, but in the way that I can play  with the best of you and my power and what I have between my two hands and inside my heart  and in the highways of blood  and spasms of memory that are held under my skin,  I can tell you that what scares me most is YOU not being able to survive the ferocity and certainty of me.   G1: I can eclipse you I can stun you. I can hold you back from realizing yourself,  just like I let you do to me.  And now I am back home.  I have never been this much larger  than life.  G2: Bring it on.  Bring it in.  You cannot erase me.   But you are right to be afraid  for all these centuries that I can erase you.   All: Am I La Malinche? G1: I gave birth to an entire people, Don’t you worry about me, Mijo. Dime.  Soy yo la Malinche? All three: I am La Malinche!