Casas de Cambio, 2019

Hay muchas casas
de Cambio,
sin cuenta.

Pero debajo del agua
nada.

Mucho pez.

Regatea el valor de un dollar, al mil,
para llenar
el bolsillo forrado en plata,
pero es gris.

Gusanos se arrastran
sin saber
su deber.

Súbete ala casa más
alta
antes de caer.

"El sol no se puede tapar con un dedo,"
decía mi abuela,
decía mi abuelo;
Pero
para chingar a un pueblo,
no se gasta
ni sientes el peso.

Mientras los niños juegan,
[tierra,
risas,
golpes,
llantos]
intercambian, entre ellos,
monedas
contaminadas.

Te están checando.

Cámbiame diez,
cuarenta,
cien,
cincuenta.

Cuenta
cada pez.

Aunque te aprovechas
para gastar
ese peso
otra vez.

English translation:

Money Exchange Locations, 2019

There are many money exchange locations,
without account

But under the water,
nothing.

Lots of fish.

They bargain the value of one dollar, a thousand times,
to fill a silver-lined coin bag
but really, it's just gray.

Worms drag themselves
without knowing
their actual purpose.

Rise to the tallest mountain
before a fall.

"El sol no se puede tapar con un dedo,"
(The sun cannot be hidden with one finger)
said my grandmother,
said my grandfather.
But
to exploit a town
there's no need to spend,
nor will you feel that weight
upon you.

While the children play
[dirt,
laughter,
hitting,
crying]
they exchange, amongst themselves,
contaminated
coins.

They're watching you.

Exchange ten,
forty,
one hundred,
fifty.

Count
each fish.

Even if you take advantage
to spend
that Peso
once again.

El Tren, 2022

El tren pasa por aquí.
No deja dormir.

A la distancia suena como serenata
de las que no son para ti
pero te abraza la melodía
y te avisa qué hay por venir.

El tren
guarda tantas cosas.
Con su movimiento
nos avisa que el mundo se mueve;

y nosotros nos dejamos de ver.

Hay que reconocer tantas cosas
desalmadas
y también agradables
para sentir sin los ojos y mirar
con otros sentidos;

Pedir
para llenar y dar
para gozar.

Reconocer un destino de ser pobre
con cosas nuevas,
reconstruidas
con la mirada y pegadas
porque,
¿por qué no?

Yo siempre pienso y a su tiempo
apropiado digo dos cosas:
"el viento me lleva como semilla" y
"la raíz guarda la vida de la historia".

Tantas cosas
se pierden
y ahí duermen debajo del tren.
Y todo guarda su historia;

Guarda tantas cosas.

Así mismo tú y yo
llevamos en las venas esa vida
guardada y protegida
por la tierra.

Tierra sana
Tierra amarga
Tierra granosa
Tierra suave
Tierra que guarda
Tierra sagrada

Sagrado es el aire que
con el podemos llenar
los pulmones
y darle a todo la naturaleza un poquito
con qué vivir.

Y en cambio nos entrega el viento;
y nos lleva y a veces
nos deja.

Tierra
Tierra luz
Tierra lumbre
Tierra agua—
Agua como la que corre como un río
Bravo y lleno de coraje
espanta y a la misma ves calma
el coraje del pueblo.

Agua con tierra,
Tierra con agua;
Las dos abrazadas,
inseparables
como lo vivido atrapa.

Hoy es día para escuchar,
día para platicar
de tantas cosas pérdidas
y de hallar
y también cantar.

Cómo el tren que se mueve
con la fuerza de un río,
a veces suave con ritmo,
a veces feroz y fuerte—
No se para por nadie y
con su sonido carga
los llantos de los perdidos
atrapados
por un sueño
no vivido . . .

Y así se acaba este cuento.
Sin números,
sin nombres,
sin un lugar fijo;
Pero con solo un destino
y así se acaba el tren.

Con cada carro que cuento,
cada color,
cada espacio,
se lo lleva el viento.

Que llegue el tren
con todo lo que carga
y con la manera que nos calla.

Ese silencio en la cabeza
por fin descansa.

   El tren pasa por aquí.
El tren pasa por mi.

English translation:

The Train, 2022

The train passes through here.
It doesn't let me sleep.

At a distance it sounds like a serenade
—the ones that aren't for you—
but you're embraced by the melody
and you know what's next.

The train
carries with it so many things.
With each movement
it lets us know the world is moving;

and we start avoiding each other.

We recognize those things
soulless
and nice
to feel without our eyes and to see
with our other senses;

To ask for abundance
and give to enjoy, a lot.

Recognize the poor person's journey
with new things,
reconstructed
only with our eyes, and we get stuck there because . . .
Well,
why not?

I've always thought and at the
appropriate moment say two things:
"the wind carries me like a seed" and
"roots preserve the life of history."

So many things
get lost
and they end up under the train.
They preserve their own history;
Preserve so many things.

You and I are the same.
We carry in our veins that same life
Preserved, protected
by the dirt.

A healthy dirt
Sour dirt
Grainy dirt
Soft dirt
Dirt that preserves a sacred Earth

Sacred is the air we breathe.
It fills our lungs
and we give it back to nature so
it can thrive.

In exchange we receive the wind;
and it carries us and at times,
abandons us

Dirt, light, dirt, fire, dirt, water—
water like the one that is carried by a
rough river, full of courage.
It's scary and at the same time it calms
the courage of the people.

Water with dirt,
dirt with water;
Embraced,
inseparable,
the way your personal experiences trap you.

Today we listen,
we connect
about so many lost and found things.
We harmonize

Just the way the train moves
like the force of a rough and scary river,
at times rhythmic and softly;
it's also fierce and strong—
it doesn't stop for us and
with each sound it makes,
it reminds us of lost cries.
trapped by a dream
not reached . . .

And this is where the story ends.
Without numbers
no names,
without a fixed place;
But only one destination
and this is where the train ends.

With each of its freight cars,
with each color,
each space,
it is carried by the wind.

Let the train approach us
with everything it carries,
the way it shuts us up

and the silence in our heads,
finally rests.

The train passes through here.
The train passes for me.

Maritza Bautista is a Tex-Mex/pocha artist, educator, and cultural worker from Laredo, Texas. She received a MA in Art Education from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago (2009) and a BA in Psychology with a minor in Studio Art from Texas A&M International University (2002). Maritza was awarded the SAIC Masters Fellowship in Art Education (2009), and her essay "Unique Voices in Youth Media" was published in the book Art and Social Justice Education: Culture as Commons (2012). Her work has been screened at various festivals, including Cine Las Americas International Film Festival (2015), the San Antonio Film Festival (2019), and most recently the MIRAAA Media Fest (2021). She has also presented and screened her work at various programs throughout Texas, in Chicago, and in Nuevo Laredo, Tamaulipas, Mexico, including the International Association of Inter-American Studies Sixth Biennial Conference Walls, Bridges, Borders (2021). Maritza started teaching in 2003 and has sustained meaningful, collaborative art practices that explore and create a dialectic milieu inhabited by issues unique to marginalized communities. Her latest practice explores scavenging, movement and transportation as it relates to wealth along and across the U.S./Mexico border; and the economic disparities that are visible and at times ironic. Maritza is the executive director of Cultivarte Laredo, a non-profit arts agency that fosters a supportive community for artists and creatives.