Black Beans and Ham Hocks

By Sarah Pineda

Black Beans and Ham Hocks

Aunt, or Tía Andrea comes
home. What will tumble from
her mouth, as she stirs the pot, 
of beans. Will she wash 
me of my confidence? As she
rinses the grime off the beans.
Will she lean into my ear, spew-
ing tidbits of machismo? Does 
she notice I look more like my 
brothers, than my cousins, and 
tías, and grandmother. Has she
noticed my hair is shaved, like 
traditions were taken from 
Nicaragua, when the Spaniards
colonized our beautiful country.
Does she notice how I am also 
part-colonizer, from the side of
my White mother. Is that why
she would rather my brothers,
over me or my mother? Because
not only am I woman, but I 
am also part White woman. 
Even though my skin is 
deeper than my brothers, I think 
she still resents my mother in me.
What is thicker than the dark 
liquid surrounding the beans? 
Blood, well at least the blood
of brown women, persecuted.
Why can’t we bond over our
experience as the marginalized? 
Not only am I part-brown, I am
a woman, who loves other women, 
I am woman in nature, I am masculine,
but not in the way men would relate to. 
So, if not anything else, why can’t she love
me for the struggle I have been through?
As she stirs the pot, of beans, saying mean
things about my mother, in the foreign, yet
colonized tongue, in that same instance 
praising my white brother, granting him
laurels, he has not yet earned.
Sometimes, I feel like the ham hocks 
left in the pot of beans to soften. When 
thrown in, they are whole, and solid. But 
as the pot cooks and simmers, with 
out a glimmer of hope, the persecution
of boiling heat, the meat becomes tender,
a delicacy to taste. Although, my aunt
doesn’t love me for my struggle, the
struggle has made me who I am. Softening 
me to be tender and compassionate. But at 
the same time I am still as solid as the bone
left in the softened beans and meat.
So even though I crave her approval, I 
will not admit defeat, just because my 
brown aunt will not put the same 
love into me, as she puts into stirring the pot, 
of black beans and ham hocks.  


Sarah Pineda is a writer from Texas. Pineda is in her last year at Sam Houston State University (SHSU). She is pursuing a Bachelors in English Literature, with a minor in Creative Writing. Pineda mainly writes about her own experiences with gender identity, sexuality, and mental illness.