DON'T TELL ME
clara olivo
Past
Present
Future
woven together
creating endless streams
of beautiful Blackness
Flowing into a mosaic
of splendor and despair
intertwining
with Indigenous glory
Atlantic meets Pacific
creating and coexisting
a culture of joy and resistance
defying the impossible
So don't tell me
there aren't any Black people in El Salvador
Mi querida Prudencia
will tell you otherwise
and las cumbias proclaim
nunca faltan los mirones como tú y los demá'
because when you look like this
a walking reflection of your ancestors pride
people can't help but ask
"what are you?"
As if short of divine isn't enough
as if surviving genocide
does not denote me
the right to be seen
as "who"
rather than
"what (am I?)"
Fijate que te confundes porque
parezco de aquí y de allá
con mi pelo suelto o trenzado
La gente de dos tierras
ascending before your eyes
Don't tell me
there aren't any Black people in El Salvador
porque mira no mas
aquí estoy
the lovechild of
El Negro y su Nena
Negrita, toda crecida
and they didn't call me that for nothing
so Don't tell me
there aren't any Black people in El Salvador
when I'm standing right here
Clara Olivo is an Afro-Salvi poet living in diaspora. Born and raised in South Central L.A to Salvadorean refugees, Clara weaves history and lived-experience creating diasporic poetry that amplifies ancestral power and pride. Her words capture the traumas and triumphs of living in diaspora and how displacement, colonization, and survival have shaped her life. She’s performed in open mics from Seattle to Washington D.C and featured in publications such as The South Seattle Emerald, Valiant Scribe and Quiet Lightning’s Literary Mixtape. Clara lives in a quiet home on unceded Duwamish land with her partner, dog and an ever growing number of houseplants.