Sunday, December 7, 2014

Xóchitl's grow in the Snow

The conch shell of my head
is a door
it's pink tender inside made of sea water of a million years,
on the outside is a shell, spiky, and porous.
It twirls inside: wanting, waiting to be loved.
Blow me.
touch me
My conch shell mind-- lost at sea to be found...
Lately I'm faced by many doors, but I'm tied to my dependency of my family, to her.
IS-IN-IT (isn't) enough that I've raised her only to give her 1 thing
2 parents, his smile is my shore.

But some doors aren't big enough, for all of us to fit in.
Some doors are too far for us to reach.
Some are too low to crawl through.
Some doors are only for me or the other me that I mourn.

Doors are tricky
They face each other.
Some have locks on them that take lots of work to unlock.
Work that I don't want to do not now- not when she still needs me.

Xóchitl's grow in the Snow

A flower unlike any other blossoming red, white, pink petals, with hieroglyphics and right angle stems. 

Xóchitl is a flower

brought to the snowland through migration,
 on the brown backs of sun worshipers 

Planted with a small hope for a better future 
her roots are desert sands with tall white capped mountains. 

In her middle is a kernel of corn. 

Xóchitl's grown in the snow

to remember the corn, sun and brown hand that made her.
Mass Confusion 
become clear when I look at her. 
I see her possibilities.
I hear her song. I feel her furry petals.
I pick her corn seed, time and time again to replant.

Borders, laws and man try to stop her growth but I sneak her in spaces.
Top of buildings, below city bus seats, sidelines of graduations, in rows of protests, online in one line status update. 

She is always there, my beautiful chestnut, rosewood brown corn seed. 
I plant her 
pick her 
am her 


Thursday, November 27, 2014

I got some really big WISCO size news!

First thank you Lord for another holiday season! Time to be with family and friends.
I just learned (via email) that I'm going to be in Brava Magazine for the Women to Watch issue! Brava Magazine
 This is the good life... Watching mi familia cook up some French toast this morning, thinking about our journey for the last couple of years: Unemployment---Madison, Robbery--Mexico City then New Jersey--Hurricane Sandy, St. Paul-Graduation... Then landing in Madison again with nothing but a few good friends...
Thank you for helping me rebuild from nothing to the time to dream again!
Love you!!!

Saturday, November 22, 2014

On the half way point of my chap book

So Here I thought I was done...
Than I checked out some places where I wanted to submit my chap book ms to and I read that they want at a min 50 pages. So far I have about 28 give or take... so that means 25 or so more pages!!!!!!!! This morning I came up with a good 15 more ideas for poems...
Good thing is that now I know how to give myself prompts to write poems from.
Now my landscape has taken up:
Vernon County
St. Paul
Rosebud Res
Mexico City
Desert Mexico
Dominican  Republic 
So my chap book is about travel, MFA, and Hurricane Sandy Memoir writings.
The main character is traveling back and forth from NY to WI and goes to all these places in between.
She learns about herself, her children her landscape
The memoir part is about Hurricane experience and about being a writer and a reader
So 50-60 pages here I go.
I know for novel writers this is a drop in the bucket. For poets this is not a huge feat. I have lots o lots of poems (over hundreds) but this is the first time I am focusing my 'eye' for a collection.
It's really expanded... from what it was a couple of months ago... it was just 10 poems now who knows it might become a book...

Thursday, November 13, 2014

In the time of Hot Chocolate and Warm Blankets...

My Heartland
Mi corazon y tierra
My heart and land


At dusk salmon colored skies
My land of Wisco is where my son’s cord is buried
It’s where my babies lie still
Bitter cold morning that make even the strongest engines hesitate
Land of my heart
And of my eye candy
Of green pastures and slopes of white covered lawns and pink skies

Mi Corazon y Tierra
So many ways to be connected into one place,
Some gushing valves in

With some values coming out
A rhythm of trees swaying
Coaxes the beat to come through
while driving by farm green squares and grainy corn fields.

But to uncover the heart is to want to protect the land…

And that relationship becomes complicated…

Monday, October 6, 2014

Mi Nostalgia....

or is it my shyness that made being in NJ/NYC made me feel off.

I had like lots of "jadyada so what's up with ya?" moments.

Being there made me think, of what are the elements of being a poet.

Check this:
Immediately, arriving to Manhattan for a lunch date, I was told "to get out of the clouds Poet, there are real things happening". And I know this.

 Pero without the nostalgia without  the "I'm in love with being in love" element, la vida se hace muy azuel y trisite.

Music cura,

Arte cura,

mas que nada

el selencio cura.

 I was asked recently what my artistic statement was.

They were asking--like, what is my artistic eye, what is my gusto?

A is for ambiguity GA style. (Gloria Anzaldua)

I like being all over the place, as a poet it's my job like Luis Alberto Urrea said in, "Count on Me tales of Sisterhoods and Fierce Friendships" edited by Adriana V. Lopez.

As a poet our job is to look through the rubble to look for the gems (207).
My rubble is (un) or fortunately:

words, ideas, politics, and even a zine every once in a while.

Heck, I'll even read your business card.

I eat books! 

My craft is my mind, tongue, and observation.
It's different for everyone.
Mi abueita sewed, she did things that for me, were magical.

Our talents are varied.

Most of the time, I'm looking a reason to love.
Thank God for our beautiful planet.

When I lived there, in Jersey,
I was haunted by the feeling of
 Knowing what my family was doing a hour behind in time.

Es Nostalgia.

Good thing: It's not hard to make friends in NJ/NYC.

There is an ocean storm vibe over there, and I knew that before Sandy.
It's powerful.

As Midwestern land-lock local, there's a slow love here, that I appreciate.

So yep, NJ/NYC past me like a storm.


I remember watching that movie in the Middleton, WI, '89 k no?

Okay that was my Mexican Heritage Month educational slip and now for the tip.

Watch the movie, but read the biographies of famous Latinos.
Because Latinos/Mexicans have lots of heart, but there is so many true-true stories and there are similarities behind the hollywood mask, to our lives.

The real stories make for better stories than hollywood. Richie's story in real life was totally more deep and complicated than what was portrayed in the movie.

Of course, I was down for his bro.

Who wasn't? and Rosie was hot too!

Real Mexican Familia stories are hard to tell.
 Don't wanna be a snitch. (jejejejejejejejej)


Abuelita could tell me some great stories of the raise and fall of people.

With this back story perhaps the following poem is understandable. In Jersey I got to know this other Latina mujer that inspired me.

Fiestas, Bodas and a stolen kiss  

Coming from the highway jungle of Jersey to the faraway island
Of warm breezes of Santo Domingo.

Away from the packed streets, swarms of gente and smells of poverty to the
Flashy sun, tropical trees and clean beaches, the streets are the same but the hope
 is still there.

Hmmm, who am I kidding I’m just here for the parties, vestidos cortos, tacones altos y todos los guapos.
Flowing from one relative to another friend’s house and fiesta, not caring who I am today but careful and respectful in every way. 

Stealing kisses from cute guys, common courtesy turned opportunity.

taxis, y tennis, 
climbing new streets, 
looking for the night beat to escape this heat.

Click clat down the dusty road to mi abuelos rancho, nothing but an old house with 1 cow, a blind pig and a black duck.

Mi abuelo tells me about every one’s chisme from the island this year, he asks if I plan to stay.

I say that I can only stay long enough for 1 moon, then I have to go home to school. 

He asks if I like school, 
I tell him the same thing I tell him every year, not as much as I like it here with you-Abuelito. 

Then he laughs his toothless smile and calls me una travesa! 

I love him and all mi familia, mi casa isla, my island home of holy Sundays.


I never knew mis abuelos
but I bet he was a crazy anger type of guy
Dude got shoot over some bread
I'm sure the fight was unequal
I get emotional and I'm sure Mi abuelo knew how that was

My other abuelo, was a true Don,
 This one got twins, who made U.S. look like a candy store.
Like they say "we didn't have condoms then"

Monday, September 1, 2014

Not such a happy Labor Day...

I know I'm supposed to be patriotic--truth is I do love the shit out of our country.
Who doesn't love the story of cold winter nights that drove away the Red coats! Them brits..

I'm thinking about a couple of kids down der in Ferguson, MisserAH (MO).

I'm pissed off that kids-African American boys and girls had to live in a gas filled area for a couple days in the past week. It saddens me that their summer is forever marked.

The PG commentary version:
IT MAKES me sad and unhappy for this Labor Day weekend that as a country we allow our children's neighborhood to get tear gassed.

(The REAL Version)
I'm fucking pissed of seeing black and brown baby lives devalued so much!
They are kids
I fucking repeat: they are kids!

Being from WI I've seen and heard and know of plenty of white DUDES get a small slap on the hand that others get years for. This kid walks across the street and gets shot THEN his whole block, his neighborhood gets gassed on instead of loved on.

I know bad things happen, but that's what happens cuando bailas con el Diablo. Or so we tell ourselves that:
if you get hurt you must have deserved it.


Imagine your neighbor and she has a six year old daughter.

Now, put her in the only area she knows to be home, and now her street, her front yard is foggy with chemical stuff making it hard to breath.

That neighbor, that girl, are real and if they were you and your kid--would you stay?

I don't know how long tear gas stays in the air but I DON"T WANT TO HAVE TO KNOW EITHER!

Now, remember they are American, and children, I put down the citizen part-out because often we forget that black, brown, yellow, red and poor white children are entitled to the same American rights as the while collar guy on Madison Ave.

As a parent, I honestly don't think I would have enough money for X of days living in a Hotel with my two kids...

I am trying to put myself their reality-here in Madison a town that lets 'kids' drink and throw a small village of trees in products into the streets after a game.
I try to imagine the police tear gassing my street for 4 to 5 days straight.

I would have to move.
I have lived near pollution before after Hurricane Sandy water consumption some days was not permitted for weeks after the rains.

I don't know of many people who live in apartments would have monies to be staying at hotels until the air clears up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I think I explained fully why I would never put up with any type of tear gassing on my street.
What a betrayal of being American in America. They only feed the dragon...

In college, I remember seeing how there was a such thing as Environmental Racism or something close to that. Lead poisoning, toxic dumps sites, and other ailments are serious and real dangerous of living in a people of color neighborhood.

The likely hood of getting some diseases go up from as the area is more urban.

I am at a disbelief of what Micheal Brown's neighborhood has gone through, its tragedy that the police made even worse.

The things we don't know about OUR Country is ABOUT as scary as getting gassed for 4-5 days.

I promise you that the people living in Madison, Penn, (NYC) and Michigan Ave (CHI) along with Mifflin (MAD) Street--Have no problems during their summers.

Guess why?

CUS those M(Beeb-Beep)ers don't stay home in the summers! They are on some island or whereever the heck they go.
 Typically, apartment kids  get to stay around for the summer.

So Excuse and Forgive me if I was supposed to be happy for the end of the summer.
For a whole neighborhood, this summer was one of the worst ones of their entire lives.
Dare I say 100's nope 1000's! of kids because not only did it suck for these kids who lived there, but all of their kids because this becomes generational.

So my point is:

I know how much I love my kids and I would never want them to get tear gassed.

For once I hope Big Brother is listening...

Monday, August 18, 2014

Heart Land in the middle of Winter at the beginning of Fall

I have a dream
I have a dream
I dream in 3D
So forget that I have a dream
When I squeeze so hard my insides
Houses come out red white blue and green
Down these streets

Between the heart and a land
Between these cold streets
Between the heart and a land

Have you given a hand to those who live on these cold streets in the heart land
Right here on these cold streets of Madison
              Have you given a hand?
                    Have you helped?
                          Do you know that someone is rushing
Before their night fall
Do you know that someone is really close to killing themselves just because
Of what they could and shouldn't of done, but they did Anyways

Do you know that someone needs you?
Right now in the heartland?
On these cold streets in the heartland
Can you give a hand? to someone on these streets in the heartland?
Their clothes don’t fit anymore because they don’t cover up all the cold outside
coming inside
Between their clothes
Between their skin and the coat that their wearing

It just doesn't fit anymore because they're starving
Not because heat but because of food and hunger of many years-days that seem like years and they haven’t eaten
And they are full of people
around them who eat everyday
Who have clothes who have homes who are not threatened
who are not persecuted by demons
demons that tell them to drink to do drugs to clean
not clean
clean up
clean down

So I ask you have you helped the people on the streets between the heartland?
in the heartland in Madison?
have you lent a helping hand?
To these people on the streets who are cold

Who don’t have much more than a coat
That doesn't fit
But fits
But let’s in that air
That cold-cold air
That type of air that you don’t dare stand in for more than 3 minutes
Before you are already talking about how cold it is inside
But These ppl have no inside
Because even when they go inside

There’s somebody there waiting for them
It’s called a beer
It’s called drugs
It’s called a fix
It’s called just having a good time
It’s called just relaxing
It’s called a lot of different things
But it’s waiting for them
Every time they go inside
and it ends up throwing them outside

Until they get in
into a place with iron bars
That don’t let them get inside or outside
Their in between worlds

Stuck like a ghost
In the heartland
In a land between a heart and helping hand
In a land between a heart and helping hand
 Are you the helping hand?

             Am I the helping hand?

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Guerrera Soy~~~~~

Guerrera Soy
Soy la Guerrera y Soy la Madre de todas Madres
I am the Warrior and I am the Mother of all Mothers
Soy Coatlicue  I am Coatlicue 

Pero me pregunta cuánto puedo durar
Porque sleepless in Seattle has nothing on my sleepless bed
Problems are not challenges
They are my daily life
of dreaming-murdering and hope shelving
I can’t hush the solutions the wanna be resolutions
talking themselves to death in my head
Choking back an economic reality with a grin
The mathematical aerobics are starting to wear thin…
The insufficient, social net that is supposed to hold us UP
comes with BIG FREAKIN SQUARE holes
and Honestly how long can you balance on a string
Corriendo with a mind running to the next breath
I walk along side Coatlicue 
I am Coatlicue

But today,
I’m so exhausted of knowing and not knowing
Of feeling and exploding
Of breathing and inhaling
Of fighting and losing
Of doing and forgetting.
Please let me be someone else,
I can’t be your salvation or social worker
I can’t carry all the weight of your mistakes.
My breasts hang flat from feeding the world.
Ay Mama, Ay Madre mija,
Oh Momma, just remember quien eres
You are Coatlicue

Today I am the mother of all mothers,
I come from many generations of women, grandmothers, mothers, daughters and sisters
Who’ve toiled every tale
who never sleep
who love
who worry themselves to death..
Tell me what have the American brown, black, yellow, white and every poor women ever done to you?
To deserve this consistent betrayal.
Yes I’m angry tell me something new
better yet
promise me some of that hope you keep peddling around…
You are
that judge
that bank
that job
that man who doesn’t trust me, so when you kill me should I be impressed?
No, Not really…
Ay Mama, Ay Madre mija,
Oh Momma, just remember quien eres
You are Coatlicue

I am Coatlicue and in my womb both creation and graves exist
I am part of God, who has allowed me to kill my own babies so I can have money for today and tomorrow...
See him, or she, or we have talked and we have come to an agreement that for now on I do
what I have too.
By any means necessary, I will live but the day I come from under your rule Pray.
Soy Madre y soy Guerrera, I’m Mother and Warrior
For I wear a skirt of skulls of my sons who have died in your wars
My hands and feet are claws scratching for survival 
I shield my-self with your snakes of betrayal so that you see your own fear.
I wear the hearts of many sisters around my neck whom I've given a listening ear too,
 only to eat their words of suffering
My belly is pregnant with a war
Unlike you have ever seen
I was here in the beginning and I will surely be here in the end…