Homesick

It always takes a long time for the words to land. So much time spent trying  to sound  just.. just enough that home does not slip through. But with every sentence the truth becomes clear. 

Adulting 

Your voices rise above the sound of the running water. No no

Collecting a breath I tune it out, your anger, your ignore.. everyday this violence becomes a replica of what your swore you will never become.. yet you let him in, gave him the key.. in doing so you failed at the promise you whispered into your boney wrist as you by your lips when you realized that you mattered. A child, this was your turning moment when you begin to think about love, love for yourself

Dishes done, next shower and lay in bed. Trying not cry you turn on the light, and you look at your bed and sigh.. heavy and your sink into the bed and your bones unravel but this time.. the process takes longer than most.. your shoulder throb from weights you have no business lifting…

Reading you espace into spaces. Your mind numb with the weight of living, numb you look at the time 9:30. An hour until the dark overcomes… you try to not think and be. At ten you move, brushing your teeth, you truly to avoid looking at the mirror, your sunken eyes, redder today than other, skin like rubber, you rise. Back in bed, you lay and play day as you wait for the sun to rise and try it again

Women’march

Born and raised with tongue skin, we don’t cracks, cracking sounds of the pot, we reach for the cover to prevent water from over spilling to feed the thirsty ground. This year too the water has not come and like every year we put our prayer in our back pocket and in these rough time times we put them out, and blow on them hoping like seeds they will scatter and bud a future for hungry minds and stomachs.  These prayers are our hope. By water we grow, by water ae build, by water we birth. Calling with us Arellano the hearing to be whole, we walk the mile to the empty field single file. Led by the children, the sounds of their rumbling stomachs, match the beats of the elders footsteps, the women’s  subdued voices is a soothing breeze in the dry heat. Single filed, the women march  continued, toward to field all with one word in their heart: tomorrow. 

collective prayers

I will be the morning star on rainy days for my loves

the song that brings all joy to the surface

a strong force of solidarity for those who need it

the voice for the silence d

the cool air that comforts you when you feel alone

and a warm embrace after a long hard day

an embrace that hold tights and never falters

The ink

stuck between languages

I see you

the beauty

a tongue saturated with love…..

radical they would call it

so fresh, i am unable to pronounce their names without a moan,

confirmation of bodies melting  into sweetness on my tongue

I carry with care and fire

longing

bursting,  

words so delicate…..tender….fierce

life changing,

With a glaze

my tongue screams in ecstasy

so little time

red , orange, yellow

Veins on fire,

a smile

the imprint

 

a kiss on the tips of my lip,

mouth open, breathing in the rhythm of our ancestors,

sweet music to my pallet

Slowly grazing on uneven on land

looking

as we reach, tongues on tongues, this is what it feel like to hunger and be fed

holding we savor every tips, the caress a reminder of the warmth of the sun

 

heighten with care

 

feeling

 

A-life to carry

—-To the women who with words, breathed like into vessels and made warriors into lovers day by day… Thank you

Grand-mama’s Laughter

abstract thoughts

disconnected

unsure of how to hold 

trace of skin hanging

pink meat on white bones

black faces

 

thirsty for knowledge

we spin in circle

a heart beat

in the dead beat city

the graves of our ancestors

chased ,

we jumped

higher, harder

ambitious

believing  agency was a word we inherited

inked in our skin

forgetting to look back to cords

 noose tied to the house

us the foundation

 

we jumped high

longing for the feeling of the quiet rumble,

the sounds after the tornado has taken

our eyes

to notice

the hot air sipping

 sewn lips, bony hands grinding to dust a future

half- awake

from her hollowed belly 

Higher and Harder

we jumped into the rumble

for a taste

of her voice