Showing posts from March, 2017

Al quien it may concern,

Yo soy Mexican.

I no longer live on the bridge

between my past and present,

I am the bridge

and my lengua is


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"                              "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.