My
state worker
When I
drive down University Avenue and see the masses and some protest signs
I think of all my women of color friends who work for the state, my
own mom and abuelita have worked the state for over 55 years collectivity.
The state
was their bread n butter when our men left. They were given a chance
on a job and with that job she bought a house put us kids through school.
The union
is a necessary protection for when we make mistakes. Because second
chances are deserved when one puts in their time, in a job.
WI women
of color, who are or have been state workers, are a special breed.
They volunteer
their time for working overtime when no else will and they break the
barriers with the very action of their work.
Their dedication
is what stories are made of. I remember hearing them as a child of
how the humanities students of the ’70s followed my grandma and
took pictures of her. I’m smiling because she thought it was
funny too and just brushed it off as one of the common causality one
takes working for the state.
When I
would ask her why they did that she would say “oh, you know those
humanities students”
State
worker you are appreciated! Women worker of color you are appreciated.
They have
families; they budget because even with work it’s not enough.
They bus, car pool, shuffle kids, care for their elders and maneuver
in a work place where they are the one and only women of color or person
of color. They take the looks, the snide comments with a smile, with
grace because they love their job. Even faced with sexual harassment,
sexism, racism they still go back and do their job, even if they are
the OEO/AA officials of their department or are part of the custodial
team. They go back each and every day.
To work.
To be part
of something bigger than themselves.
State
worker you are appreciated! Women worker of color you are appreciated.
WI State
women workers of color give annually to charities like United Way because
we know we might need them later. We promote from within, we tell our
friends and family about job openings. We cover our walls, corners,
cubes with pictures not of vacations but of family.
We’re
the ones who bring all that good soul food to the pot lucks. We share
sick time.
We listen
to our co-workers when it’s not part of our job. They’re
the ones who encourage you when you want to quit.
State
worker you are appreciated! Women worker of color you are appreciated
They bring
collaborations between different department and agencies.
They support
3x or 5x as many people as their counterparts.
We are
honest; we are professional even in the most menial jobs. We are stylin!
We work in every part of the state government, universities, Colleges,
Schools, City and County if I missed an area my greatest apologies—
You are
mother of each generation of women of color worker. We are envied by
the private sector.
We carry
an air of accomplishment, awe to our dedication and mystery of “how
can she do all that and still look good!”
State
worker you are appreciated! Women worker of color you are appreciated.
We are Wisconsin!
She is
the reason I protest, she is Wisconsin.
First printed in HUES Magazine and in Verse online,
in honor of Poetry month and Wisconsin Women of Color Workers
* *
* * * * * * *
Small time living in Mad Town
Will my feet be enough to sustain me?
Will I write again? Like I do now? Probably, less about heartache.
It’s funny how much pain I’ve witnessed here in this unsuspecting
city..
A sleepy city that’s for sure, full of its own secretes, and pockets,
holes, waters, and rivers,
where oddities like me survive.
Juxtaposed cultures riveted with contradictions.
And yet
drive out to a lake of your choice-remember we have 4 of them,
or even
by accident, you happen to drive by one, it’s been a shitty
day- and- it, the lake,
swallows your pain, and you learn to breathe
again or you get really fuck’d up and get arrested
and you say “I
fuckin’ hate Madison! When I get out I’m leaving.”
Sad thing
is, when you get out you don’t leave. You just end up
doing it all over again.
I remember
this Chicano professional (or so-called professional) guy tellin’ me
“Oh, you mean you’re tired of going around the Beltline” at
the same time he rolled his hips like
he was hoola-hooping. I laughed cuz it
was true.
Been
around and drove around this city too many times to count. Like a million
or billion if you
count the time before I learned to count.
I
remember driving down S. Park Street on way home. I’m like
7 or 9 years old, we lived on West Wash and I would pretend the
light posts were angels sendin’ me beams of good luck and
if I collected enough beams, then the evil of violence would
not follow me home and the two adults in the front seats wouldn’t
change into violent intimidating creatures.
Not
quite human.
|
Araceli Esparza