Una tormenta Lluvia cristalina Lista para sanar Lista pa’ celebrar. Una muxer Sirena al nacer Nada a su anden Nada con su ser. Energía continua Siempre evolucionando Re-creando pasos Re-creando espacios. Una chispa Brinca - danzón Baila al conpaz Baila al mas allá. Fuego alumbra En llamas, pasión Nueva leña Nuevo encanto. Agüas infinitas Rodean… Continue reading Lista Para Sanar
Hay días que requieren Excavar Buscar Y recordar El ser que era Antes que el mundo Habia interferido Descending to the Sacred fortress I go Amparando me De raices De otro mundo Tan profundo Que te llevan A todos los ayer-es Tlatlauhtia Means Prayer In Nahuatl Language that was stolen From my Tongue But not… Continue reading Rooted
Her sun kissed hand delicately places an owl feather on top of white embroidered linen Marigold and rose petals float through the air landing on sticky honey dipped apples Gusts of wind caress the house Shadows dance with wafts of cinnamon incense smoke Black and white pictures of ancestors frozen in time speak untold stories… Continue reading Womb
I want a life I don’t dread waking up to. I am still processing the last 2 years. I am still adjusting to my new home. I have to acknowledge where I really am. I am still trying my best to be a good parent, but don’t know what the right thing to do is.… Continue reading Visions From Mictlán: A Journey Into the Abyss
She did not fight or flee, to survive the fawn froze ~*~ Turquoise serpent winds my way turns at an ankle, rises round a thigh now upon my shoulders, a lethal shawl my arms extend lightly feet plant in warrior stance the north wind enters and the dance begins slowly, she wraps around my torso… Continue reading Turquoise Serpent
Father comes over. I show him a book. Written in Mixteco and Spanish. I ask if he could read it in dialecto. He tries and says there are many regions and many dialects. He tries and says no. His dialect Zapoteco Is different. We sit and talk about language. We always talk about language. I… Continue reading Untitled
I am standing in the craft store searching for the exact green used by my Abuelita. She has been making Christmas stockings for all the kids in the family since I was a baby. She even made one for my partner when he and I were married. She made them for my first two children,… Continue reading Reflections in an Isle of Yarn
The merciful line up before god eyes downcast pebbles underneath their tongues They offer dirt, glass and the blood dried in the grooves of their soles Sun cuts through stained glass ignites the perfume and gold marking division The priest appears a shadowed figure draped in silk his words pierce the gathered and leave no… Continue reading Sacrament
Abuelita’s songs of loss and solitude bathe her in ceremonial sound marigolds tremble nearby Mama’s fiery prayers for deliverance vibrate from her heart center onto her children’s skin My sharpened pencil picks colonial locks out flutters truth in sparkling flames ancestor’s ashes rest
Queridas Mom, Nana, On the eve of Día de los Muertos, I imagine you in two wicker chairs, positioned outside a beachside house that overlooks the shores of Luquillo. You’re drinking coffee, decaf as always, made sickly sweet with caramel creamer. The soft breeze delivers a chill. You hug your bodies tighter in your shawls. … Continue reading A Moonlight Toast to the Women who Raised Me
