Tag: Poetry

Dreamers I

The streets of Oklahoma were pitch-dark, I thought the power was gone. How come these gringos don’t use light poles? I asked. Saturday at noon.

This is what war does—

This is what war does— to women— makes them warriors— cuts their breasts stops the gushing of their wombs— changes their nails to bayonets— Their

Which Love? Which Body?

Which Love?   I knew the tongue but not the weight of the words.   I learned that love—so heavy where I come from it

Soy Güera

Mi corazon, an ivory-veined granite rock tossed into the Rio Grande moons ago. I want to float up, pierce the muddied waters like a machete

Riverbend

There are hidden pieces of bone in my mother’s breath: she spat out fragments of history for her children to augur. The mystery of my

Humo

Humo                                               Somos el

100 Lies

(“Just remember: what you’re seeing and what you’re reading is not what’s happening.” Donald J. Trump)   1. The sun continues to rise in the

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