Mexicans in Chicago Since 1945


Just Feel

these words you reading
                  are me.

if you need more,
                        you aren't feeling me.


I like when our home is clean

everything piled up nicely

like snow

We Fly

our language isn't broken phrases
but limbs of speed

handshakes in forms of wings
conveying hope in the everyday

holding each other up
from the grounds

mud deep in caged parks

The Art of Release

I went to an art show on Friday, March the 3rd.
It was a small gallery,
with open space,
white walls,
and rustic corridos channeling from the speakers.


The artist "performed" an act of release by pouring water into crystal glasses,
dipping her fingers into them,
and rubbing her fingers on the rims of the glasses.
It was a rubbery kind of sound that,
after some time,
turned into whistling chimes.


As she maintained the chiming sound of the crystal glass
she said, "If you will, close your eyes. Think of one word that signifies what you would like to release"                              anger                              "and take a deep breathe"                         "now exhale."

Tears roared up past my throat.
My nose flared,
my jaw jittered,
my teeth bit my bottom lip,
trying to keep the rushing waters down.
The tears streamed from my eyes
and with my hands,
I quickly wiped them away.

We fly

handshakes in forms of wings

conveying hope in the everyday

our language isn't broken phrases

but limbs of speed

holding each other up

from the grounds

mud deep in caged parks

It's me

hiding from myself as a guilty compromise

though really

i'm a chicken-shit,

and i make you feel guilty about it

The ghosts won't fade

when in my minds box
darkness is my illuminator
and you are the one that can see from outside
limbs in limbo
over the hyphen bridge, the    thin     gap     road
to my assimilated mind
floating and afraid of heights
come back to me
bring me back

I've had stomach problems since I was five

living in the land of opportunity
gets you fat
either you get indigestion or you
slowly lose your taste
and everything becomes bland
which is ok
until you eat spice and curse the cook out

acid builds     bubbles    and pops

The early night of January 17

We were downtown, my grandmother and I, when I saw large flocks of birds from different species flying North. I turned from looking East to looking directly above me: a grey concrete disk combusted and turned into a huge fireball falling quickly in my direction. Once it came closer, the fireball disk started to disintegrate and huge chunks flew in all directions around me. That's when I yelled for my grandmother who was still standing East of me, about two concrete slates of sidewalk from me. I turned West and ran to an open black jeep (very similar to the ones in Jurrasic Park) and told my young brother, who was seated and buckled in the car,  to make sure our other two younger brothers had their seatbelts on. My grandmother, now my passenger, was also putting on her seatbelt.
The road was crowded with people trying to get to the expressway. "I'll just take the streets", I thought to myself. While everyone on the road drove North-East, I drove West. I was now on a r…

I'm happy where I am: The difference between You, Me and my Father

You’re just mad because you want me to talk to you like that You just want me for yourself You just want me to break the rules with you And for no one but yourself.
In my dreams, you are my partner in crime, but you’re not the only one The rules I break are to free my mind from binding lusts I feel in life Because in reality, broken things are never like new, no matter how much glue is used,
And in reality, I really, really don’t want to be with you.