If I had a dollar for every time I felt like there wasn’t enough space

Poem by Viviana Mendoza

If I had a dollar for every time I felt that there wasn’t enough space,

I’d buy a lot of houseplants—

enough to hide my bedroom walls,

a glaring pink I never chose.

I would paint the walls new colors.

Maybe everyday.

I’d buy my mom some light-as-air furniture, 

and I would pay someone to make that possible, 

so she wouldn’t scuff the floor at 12 am, 

when she wants to move the furniture around. 

I’d invite my abuelita to move in with us;

bring in all of her knick-knacks and

her little dog who never stops barking.

I’d make sure my niece has her own bedroom,

the princess bed she’s always wanted,

another room to house her toys,

and another for her books.

I think I’d still want to share a room with my younger sister,

and cook dinner in a crowded kitchen.

We’ve mastered dancing around each other

to get food from the table

or plates from cupboards;

to cry in the shower, our only privacy.

If I had a dollar for every time I felt like there wasn’t enough space,

I think I’d buy my mom a new house,

but it would still be kind of small,

with just enough space for us

and nothing else.

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Viviana Mendoza is a stay-at-home mom and writer. She writes poetry inspired by Hispanic family dynamics, motherhood, being a woman, and her exploration of identity within those spaces. She's been published in Motif, The Sagebrush Review, and The Acentos Review.

Image by Brandon Comer