a Centaur and its Lady

The sounds of melody long have gone.
Gold lockets, tight disordered tight-pants. The sound of money.
Washed face people standing over the floor built upon the people of before. Of the grit and grime of creativity, of indifference ingrown.
Built above it a society unaware of color, of dirt.
This story doesn't contain any real people, only what people really are. The sound of the singer with golden locks and tight faded red pant.

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June

This is the second time I see you and you are no longer a little boy. You're much taller, your hair, you've let grow. You are a young man with a crown of cornrows. We meet in the city, with your dad, at a sidewalk cafe. You walk away from my view. Maybe to pick up our drinks. Your dad speaks to me this time. He's no longer the brooding man on the couch. Y our dads much older since I last saw you. His eyes are droopy but they rise when he speaks of you and when he smiles. His freckles show more; on his nose bridge, on the high part of his cheeks. His dreds are thicker but the color is lighter, like brown, smoky, dusk. His glasses are the same thin metal frames from always. He t ells me how well you're doing. How well your both doing. How everything is well. I mention your grandmother- I heard about your mom. I reach out and place my hand over his- I'm really sorry. Your dad's bottom lip quivers and he gives me a nod. You come...

The importance of the brown round table

It wasn't until last summer that i felt the need to write down my mother's and father's personal stories It wasn't until last week that i felt the value in each individual piece I don't feel value in my other pieces or my work at my office job which helps so many people but what is the value of a life lived in Chicago, as a woman, as a brown woman as a woman who labels herself Mexican and chubby is it only up to me to build this value, to build it inside of me so that others can feel then see that i do belong here that my words belong on this page for you to read

El amor is nothing but a victim of human desire

When you get to the longest tunnel on the express, hold your breath 'til the end then make your wish, she said. We always passed through that tunnel on I90/94. We lived by Belmont and California Avenue. My mom or dad would get on the express way via the Kedzie Avenue entrance. Evertime we'd get to the downtown tunnel I'd hold my breath with the strong faith of a religious woman and repeated, I want love, I want love, I want someone to love me. A white long sleeve shirt from Discovery that had the word "LOVE"--a heart in place of the "O"-- in black bold Calibri font was my favorite shirt in sixth grade. I was eleven years old. It was a fitted shirt my dad's young girlfriend bought me with my dad's money. Or maybe it was just a gift from her. Or maybe she took me to Discovery and let me pick out what I wanted--a pair of shorts with glitter buttons on the hips, a crop top that had a white transparent shirt underneath. A boy from my class wa...

La Pura Neta

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