Yellow Notebook #1

spilled
splashed
me
On my fingers, on its tips
can it disguise me?
can it engulf the identity that I no longer be?
it feels safe and warm
but i see vast fields, i wish not to go
i want to turn, retrace my steps
but where did the road go?
did it ever lead anywhere?
did it mean
a pit-stop, a chill?
i miss its vibration against the inside of my skin
the spell it cast of never-ending unknown
my learning, not yours

Comments

dechavetado

adj. amer. Chiflado, que ha perdido la chaveta: está deschavetado por ella. per http://www.wordreference.com/definicion/deschavetado Y yo, estoy deschavetada por la camara, el imagen, spanglish, dreams, letras and memori-a.

Carnales (after Terrance Hayes)

We’re like kids running under shooting red fire hydrants, us, standing in transparent tanks & heavy shorts under our home’s gutter drain. “My turn,” I remember you say but I don’t move. Instead, I close my eyes & remember mom, twirling in her long denim-blue dress on our porch under the rain. Mom would take us outside in the rain to bathe together, ...

House/Home

I didn't know of any Latina writers growing up. Of the Latino writers I knew of, I knew their long pieces of work, their novels. Novels is what real writers did. Short pieces come from poets. If you want to write short pieces, you should be a poet. This is what I had learned when I was a child. When I learned about The House on Mango, I wasn't taught about the book nor about the writer, but I saved her name: Sandra Cisneros, a published writer, a published Latina writer. When I finally has the chance to get the book, I flipped through it and was immediately heartbroken--It wasn't a novel. I was still under the impression that great writers are novelists and instead of seeing the praise given to the book as a sign of great writing, I took it as a mockery. I took it as if the literary world was mocking the ability of Latina writers, as if short stories were the only thing we could do. It's complicated now for me to talk about what I felt because in truth it had nothing ...

La Pura Neta

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