Tablecloth

Victoria Guerrero-Peirano
Translated from the Spanish by Anastatia Spicer & Honora Spicer

My mother made a tableclothShe crochetedAt the time I didn’t know anythingShe took it everywhereI wondered at how she crocheted in the darkness of a theatreBut she didAnd the next day there wasn’t a single stitch added or droppedThat was my mother in those daysA strange womanShe worked during the day and on the weekends stitchedShe took me to the theatreI didn’t understand her thenMy friends’ mothers stayed homeThey cooked   They picked them up from school   They packed lunch boxesWhen the tablecloth was finishedShe put it on the tableIt was magnificentBut back then I didn’t understandIt was complicatedI was tangled in her delicate webI saw my mother through that pane of threadShe kept being different from the others:She worked during the dayEmbroidered on the weekendsAnd couldn’t really stand being at homeI never understood herMaybe I didn’t know enoughShe also never taught meThought it was too much for me—or too littleNow my mother says she can’t do anything with her handsThe tablecloth stays tucked away in the kitchen cabinetI got myself knee-deep in diplomasAnd I don’t know how to embroider MantelMi madre tejió un mantelA crochéEn ese tiempo yo no sabía nadaLo llevaba a todos ladosMe asombraba que tejiera en la oscuridad de un cinePero ella lo hacíaY al día siguiente no sobraba ni faltaba una sola pastillaAsí era mi madre en aquellos tiemposUna mujer extrañaTrabajaba de día y los fines de semana tejíaMe llevaba al teatroYo no la entendía en ese entoncesLas madres de mis amigas permanecían en casaCocinaban   Las recogían de la escuela   Les preparaban la loncheraCuando el mantel estuvo terminadoLo puso en la mesaEra magníficoPero yo en ese tiempo no lo entendíEra complicadoMe enredaba en su delicada tramaVeía a mi madre a través de esos anteojos de hiloElla seguía siendo diferente a las otras:Trabajaba de díaBordaba los fines de semanaY no soportaba demasiado estar en casaYo nunca la entendíQuizá no supe lo suficienteTampoco ella me enseñóPensó que era demasiado para mí—o muy pocoAhora mi madre dice que no puede hacer nada con sus manosEl mantel permanece guardado en el cajón de la cocinaYo me llené de diplomasY no sé bordar

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Headshot of Victoria Guerrero-Peirano

Victoria Guerrero-Peirano (Lima, Peru) is a poet, researcher and essayist. In 2020, she was awarded the National Literature Award in Peru with the transdisciplinary essay Y la muerte no tendrá dominio and in 2023 she won the Proart prize for her book La mujer. She has published ten books of poetry, among them Todas las poetas peruanas tienen cáncer (2024), I am no body (2021), Diario de una costurera proletaria (2019), Zurita + Guerrero (a duo with the poet Raúl Zurita, 2014) and Berlín (2011). She has also published the novella Un golpe de dados (novelita sentimental pequeño burguesa) (2014). Guerrero-Peirano holds a doctorate in Literature and a masters in Gender Studies. She forms part of Proyecto Trans.arch: archivos en transición (Project Trans.arch: archives in transition), she is a researcher with the independent project Mapa de Escritoras Peruanas (Map of Peruvian Women Writers), she is a founder of the activist group Comando Plath and she directs the editorial Intermezzo Tropical. She cares for Varela and Berlin and teaches at Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú.

Headshots of Anastatia Spicer and Honora Spicer

Anastatia Spicer (they/them) is a weaver based in Philadelphia, PA. www.anastatia.work.

Honora Spicer is a writer and Ph.D. Candidate in History at Harvard University. Her documentary poetry, essays and literary translations from Spanish have appeared in The Boston ReviewJacket2Tripwire, Asymptote, and elsewhere. www.honoraspicer.com.

This book of threads binds the autobiographical and the bureaucratic, the maternal body and the factory floor. In fierce and tender lines, contemporary Peruvian poet Victoria Guerrero-Peirano pierces intergenerational silences with erupting screams.

"In this beautifully woven translation, Victoria Guerrero’s Diary of a Proletarian Seamstress is a vindication of our mothers and grandmothers, who toiled in the dark, sewing and knitting, and of all the women in factories trying to satisfy our hunger for fast fashion. With each line, Guerrero rips through the seams of sexist and classist distinctions that elevate fine art above handicraft, professors above factory workers, and writers above seamstresses. From the luminous frayed threads emerge the shared silences and rage of these women, which, woven together, form a sturdy but fluid textile that invites us to consider and acknowledge the price of their invisible labor."
—Rosa Alcalá, author of YOU

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