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

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I Am

I am a first born first generation American Mexican My name derives from my father’s mother María Magdalena and my mother’s mother Carmen My mother wanted Mayan moon goddess Itzel or Hebrew princess Sarah names with roots other than our own No one in my family calls me by my first name María a Latin Hebrew name for sea of bitterness, rebellion My family only calls me by my middle name Carmen a Spanish Latin name for ...

The Children of the Home

The wall is yellow with spots of lines made by a pencil The orange wall across from it is filled with swirls of red and green color She sits on brown steps in-between these walls Concentrating on the images and the words of a song she plays and repeats on a phone. The kids laugh and play along One on the drums another la-la-ing words from a song The father plays scales on his bass and plays excerpts of the kids favorite songs Everyone is full of joy It’s comforting to live in this moment, There are no worries The afternoon storm has passed this home. “Pizza time! Pizza time!” the son yells to all who come through the door. “It has cheese and spinach and pepperoni” then says no more. The TV is loudly playing a show. “Teen Titans GO!”, he yells, singing along to the words of the theme song He sits quietly, enjoying his food So transfixed is he, That he doesn’t notice some pieces food has fallen to floor.

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, ...

La Pura Neta

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