Camilleon

Published on August 28, 2019, in Spanish. The original poem can be found [HERE].

I was born in that warm, cozy breeze of my Choluteca lands. I was born to an adventurous mother who brought her coastal northern coconuts for a San Lorenzan love down south of Honduras. That’s how I was born in that little nest they made for us, raised by a mother with the radiance of someone who seemed to have lived many lifetimes, ready to make the most out of this modest life. I was shaped in the shelter woven by my roots, made so I could embrace my caramel-colored skin, made to fit my bare feet that glided as I ventured into this world. They worked hard teaching their little birds to fly—dreaming, believing, reading, and loving. They gave up their world to weave mine and that of my nestmates.

The jícaro trees saw me grow in a town that tangled itself in my veins, taking it with me wherever I go. I always dream of it, breathe its air, crave its street foods, and remember it so brightly that I almost forget the scorching temperatures I once complained about. The antidote to that burning heat is a pozol made by the hardworking hands of Doña Maura, with her recipe perfected through the years. My mother and I, on an attempt to escape the heat, we’d go refresh ourselves with a pozol served on a jícaro gourd.

We talked about everything and nothing during our frequent girls’ dates, letting hours pass in that town where time moves slower. In the town where 2 o’clock is really 2:30, and being late means arriving on time. Choluteca, so simple and so joyful, adorned with colors, corner stores, and Spanish cathedrals. A bearer of so much history—colonial homes, streets paved by the sweat of our natives, and the stone bridge that connects us to the rest of Honduras.

In the darkness of the night, when the electricity decided to take a break and Choluteca was left in gloom, my mother and I would lie outside to watch the starry night on the back of a pickup truck. I humbled myself to the idea of how small I am in this bustling galaxy. Who would’ve thought that, with how busy the galaxy was, it would let me cross paths with another growing parallel, but seas apart? He came to fall in love with my lands, my culture, and even the scorching Cholutecan heat. He, so peaceful, came to calm the storm that gathered in my mind. In a blossoming spring, we linked worlds, and I brought my jícaros for a Lewisburgian love. Whatever brought my mother to Choluteca also brought me here — forming another little nest, a blend of cultures, held together by love. Surrounded by maple trees that color the streets each spring, with a forest in my backyard where nature, in its splendor, makes me feel at home.

Copyright © 2025 Camille Claudel Bond. All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, or otherwise used without the prior written permission of the author.