The Fabric that tried to bury us (excerpt)

 

It has been so long since I “published” something here! But given that I am doing a "countdown to my 40” where I am doing something I love and enjoy everyday for a month, I thought I would start with one of my favorite things, which is writing for self expression.This is an excerpt from a poem I wrote at pretty early in the morning around 5am on Thanksgiving day. It actually just sort of happened, I could not go back to sleep. I had a lot of thoughts and reflections on my mind, so I began to write things down on my phone notes section. As I was writing things, it started to feel like this “narrative" and this “story”- a story that began with this feeling…like a large cloth/fabric was trying to “bury" me, and/or us (us women) especially in this social and political climate. These times have made me think about my culture and womanhood more than ever. I hope that this gives voice to the collective emotions others might be having, and it helps liberate us from those difficult feelings, even if it's just a little bit.

The Fabric that tried to bury us (excerpt) by Mercedes Vega  11/27/25

 

"The fabric that tried to bury us
began its work slowly, subtly.
It started with the most invisible women—

 

They were the canaries in the dark,

singing warnings in a language no one cared to learn.

Their voices hadn’t always been muted.

 

 

Once, they were like any of us—

curious, hopeful, bright with optimism,

But from an early age they were taught they were different:

that love was so conditional,

that their light was something to be dimmed, molded, or punished.

 

Yet these women remained resilient.

Hyper-attuned to the world,

they carried a sensitivity so profound

it became a gift—

the gift to heal others

even when they did not know how to heal themselves.

 

We come from those women.

 

From Antu Silan Ulap,

the Lenca leader who rose against invasion,

whose courage echoed through mountains and rivers

long before her name was written.

 

And from Prudencia Ayala—

born Indigenous, born poor,

a seamstress by necessity and a visionary by nature.

 

She stitched rebellion into every page,

every speech,

every breath.

 

Their threads run through our veins.
Their resistance is woven into our bones.

With steady hands and ancestral memory, we stitch our stories into the very cloth that once tried to smother us.

We choose the brightest colors—

the ones our ancestors hid for safekeeping—

colors born of courage, creativity, and unbroken spirit."