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When You Ask Me Where I'm Going: Young Adult Prose Poetry on Trauma, Feminism, and Empowerment

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Jasmin Kaur

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“Comienza a invadirlo un hormigueo, una sensación de vacío que le nace en la articulación de la mandíbula y le baja por la garganta y por el pecho hasta instalarse en la boca del estómago. Algo va mal, y lo sabe, pero está demasiado aterrorizado para apartarlo de sí o preguntarse qué es. De repente comprende que ese es el peligro de permitir que intervenga el amor: el hecho de saber que si algo sale mal, no sabe qué va a hacer para soportarlo.”

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“And so, as he became a man, he began to search for a name of his own. Eventually his quest took him far from the shores where he was born...he began to fight in the name of another man. Some might say that the boy's quest had failed. For he would forever be nameless in his own land. A pale girl he had once loved would think of him sometimes, on a bright spring day in her cold stone castle. But she would never speak his name. A family in a small, dark cottage would mourn their lost son when the war ended and he did not come home. But none of them would ever know how his end came, and as years passed they would wonder out loud about his fate less and less until they stopped altogether. And when they were gone, too, his name would never be spoken again in the land of his birth. No mothers would tell their sons and daughters his story as they held their children on their knees in front of the fireplace. No singers would compose odes to his deeds. And the queen of the kingdom across the sea would never know that a boy from her island met his end alone in the dark, fighting another ruler's war. But not so in the desert. In the desert, the boy would never be nameless again.”

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“... she shut her heavy eyes. 'Why don't they sign up for training?' He knew who she meant. 'Maybe they're not ready.' 'I thought they'd sign up.' 'Is that what you're upset about?' His question was so gentle, so sad. Nesta opened her eyes. 'Some of them have been here for hundreds of years and still haven't been able to come back from what they endured. So what hope do I have?”

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“Every day he wakes up to a grey world. The smell of damp earth seeps through the cracks and corners of the log cabin, windows frosted with the condensation. There are ancient apple trees with sprawling, gnarled roots outside, streams trickling down the mountain all around the home, and a decomposing body buried deep in the woods where the coywolves won’t get to it. Welcome to the holler.”

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