By mossy rocks down the river she lay Beaming sky shined her hair so red Her skin twinkled so white The river so blue Under bright moonlight Ear-splitting screams heard in morning My mother buzzed around dusting What she could find She smoothed out creases On birth certificates Placed diplomas in glossed wood frames… Continue reading Proof
Another painting My knuckles have gone white from holding on to the rails, My eyes so tightly shut I see stars in the dark, My stomach has twisted and reached over to tickle itself, I'm ready for the fall, ready for the drop in the rollercoaster where my hands will fly up and I'll scream… Continue reading Carnival Games
Another badly painted painting depicting the egg in glass I am two different people in English and in Spanish A distorted two way mirror Distorted glass cup The curandero down the road defined me in Spanish He rubbed the holy water dipped egg all over Even at eight years old they must have seen what… Continue reading The Curandero and the egg
I'm told to be proud of my Mexican-americanness To use it in the work But maybe my work will always be bland and confused Because I do not know where the Mexican begins or where the American ends Is my mexicanness the bangs I cut in my bathroom with craft scissors is it my father… Continue reading How do you measure who you are?
my mother said Si te barro los pies no te vas a casar o encontrar amor, recuerda de levántarlos If I broom your feet you won't get married or find love, remember to lift them just one of many superstitions my mother inherited from her mother I've done almost everything right, followed the rules, read… Continue reading the curse of the broom
Another abstract painting done by me. I'm aware I am not a good painter or that I even can. But I kind of like choosing an image from the poems I write and visually painting them with color and shapes. I spend my Friday morning playing a game of "he likes me, he likes me… Continue reading A Friday in Three Parts
Abstract drawing of a hibiscus flower done by me Mami says the hibiscus agua fresca tastes bitter because it has been here too long And I wonder if she thinks the same about herself She says this country does not love her and she won’t stay where she is not wanted But I secretly think… Continue reading Hibiscus Agua Fresca- a poem
I want to tell my mother about the knot in my throat About how It’s been lodged there for a decade how I’ve told her before without ever using the word “knot” or “throat” How I wished, hoped that this mother-daughter bond would include intuition or telepathy About how its been there so long I… Continue reading Untitled #2
How do you move on? Do you do it slowly, like a tightrope walker, a delicate balance between safety and doom? Do you pack up everything you have left into a box and make a run for the back door? Do you hand in a notice and lay it all out on the table? Do… Continue reading How Do You Move on?
A picture of a mural I took in Bay Ridge. I couldn't think of a title so... It's been a while since I posted something . Mostly I've been trying to gather my thoughts about what's happening in the world. I have a draft in my drafts folder with my thoughts and feelings on Black… Continue reading Thoughts, Thoughts, Thoughts