English 10 Reflects on Cisneros

In the closing pages of Sandra Cisneros’ The House on Mango Street, Esperanza shares her desire for an independent and unrestrictive home. A place where she can write her own life. A life free of objectification and gender guidelines. Cisneros’ style can be categorized as prose poetry.  

A House of My Own Sandra Cisneros 

 Not a flat. Not an apartment in back. Not a man's house. Not a daddy's. A house all my own. With my porch and my pillow, my pretty purple petunias. My books and my stories. My two shoes waiting beside the bed. Nobody to shake a stick at. Nobody's garbage to pick up after. 

Only a house quiet as snow, a space for myself to go, clean as paper before the poem.

The following students here wrote their own reflections of a desired sense of independence and peace.

The task required concrete details, repetition, pronoun clarity, alliteration, assonance, consonance, syntax variety, tone control, attention to what they do not want and, of course, what they do desire.

Enjoy these gems. 

Pip

My Own 

Stephanie Ochoa 

I want a car. Cadillac CT5. It’s Black. It has a red interior. Driving fast while listening to Lana Del Rey with the windows closed. Opening my trunk and seeing seats for the beach. With my best friend. Far from my family. Far from all the judgmental people. Having my Dunkin coffee in the cup holder beside my wallet. Tasting rubber. Having a car in the driveway. That's mine. Not my mom’s, dad’s, or brother’s. Seeing people walking on the sidewalk. Touching the steering wheel and beeping at people for not driving fast enough. Leaving my house whenever I want or whenever I feel like it. Picking up my friends whenever we want to go out. Smelling like florals. Hearing all the traffic in Jericho. Heading far from home. 

Arctic Tern                                                                                      

Alex Bustillo 

I want to live my life. Explore new places, countries and continents.Spain, Switzerland, France, Finland, Germany, Italy. Meet new people. No one to tell me what to do,where to go, or how to think. I will listen to all the new and odd sounds of the world. The music from other cultures. Try traditional dishes. Have my own Florida house next to Pensacola Beach with gorgeous sunset views. But I will spend most of my time in hotels from other countries. Not overthinking or thinking about the past, just living the present and thinking about what the future will give me.

Traveling from place to place like the Arctic Tern migrating from north to south. Full control of my mind and my decisions. Learning languages. Taking pictures all over the world. Simple. Enjoying life.

Peace

Giovanni Aguilar

I want a home where my happy family lives. My home. My life. A bright blue beach right outside the door. Sand and salt. I want the big bright green grass and palm trees swaying tall in the sky. Two shiny silver cars in the garage. No snow. No heaters. No white winter snow staining my shoes. 

A garden full of ripe red tomatoes, round and rich. Sunbeams baking the bedroom. The window wakes me. Each morning is a gift of Tampa Bay. Sea breezes and bird chirps. 

Myrtle Beach 

Hailey Argudo Molina

I want a view of the beach. Myrtle Beach. The way the salty sea hits my mouth. Wet and delicate sand on my toes. 11 hours away from home.  8 am sunshine beaming on the water. Smooth seaweed smell. Waves clashing onto each other like cars crashing. Sea shells around the sea shore. Deep personal thoughts deep in my heart. The taste of my sweet cold coffee No loud people yelling of excitement and being happy. No one  around me in my personal circle. Just me and the beach being lonely together. 

Me and my sympathy all alone at 8am on a sunday in the summer. 

My Escape from Problem

Jennifer Reyes Cardona 

Not a house. Not a  room.  A 2026 BMW M5. My getaway. My freedom. No parent to tell me where to go. No siblings fighting for the front set. Only the quiet time of a cold late night before the world wakes up. Me, myself, and I. I turn the keys, they sound with a sharp, metallic clink clack. The Monster drink is freezing in my hand. The aluminum tab snapping open with crisp hiss. I want the speed. I want the adrenaline thumbing against my ribs like a kick drum. My playlist drops the bass heavy and deep. A low thrum thrum that vibrates through the whole car. I'm the driver. The road is my race to my peace. We race into the dark. The M5 screeching a high pitched mechanical wail as I shift gears.  Montauk is far away, but I am going farther. Under the moonlight and the bright stars, the street lights pass by. Yellow ribbons in the rearview.  My partner in crime is the car. Its seat warmers on high like a hot rock against my back. I crack the open windows and let the night in. I feel that air brushing through my hair, the wind whistling a sharp, lonely note. 

I hear the engine, a rhythm, guttural roar that drowns out every worry. Fun. Pure me time. Running away from problems and into the velvet dark of the parking lot at the edge of the island. No one to be bothered by. Owls hooting in the distance, their soft hoots lost in the engine. A blanket trucked in the back, silent and soft. Away from home chasing the moonlight until the sun comes up. All mine.