red earth. i am layered snake winged
talons of pigeons. and telephone poles
burritos. frito pie. azteca.
hot cheeto warrior
coca cola drinking water rights fighting
broken down in the sentiment
dancing skin wailing. breath. screaming
open call. open song. open dream hamburger
french fries awakening.
sons of tribal chiefs
brains and blood
hearts of gold, codex, arte musica
deerskin drum hides
greed and poison
la raza comics breaking
fighting to remember all the layered
olmeca. tarumara . chicano. hispanic. latino.
white. irish. japanese. american. norten~os . suren~os
dancing in the tramping memory
exploding through the tequila . heroin.
peyote. devils’ weed. marijuna.
black skin. red snaked skin.
waiting for the snake skin to shed
we become the overall song that our mothers and fathers sang
they bled their names on this earth
with hands and feet and backs
this mexico. this nuevo mexico.
this colonized land. whose native tongues
are drifting. getting stuck in dried cedar branches
pancho villa’s peoples came through here and devasted
indigenous land. devasted indigenas. raped and pillaged
indigenous blood. yaqui blood. tarumara . pueblo.
mexican hands pillaging their own red peoples
mexican hands full of red tainted blood.
we have killed over and over. each other.
brothers on top of brothers
killing and raping mothers and sisters
lost in this colonization
forgetting the blood trails before
anasazi . and other temples
rushed through all our bloods
migrating visions of where we have been
where we are going.
we cannot forget
how many times we have burned each other
we can never forget
the mud and blood on our hands
we have to wipe them clean
and build from here.
along the frontera the buried bodies
get buried under the undocumented sun
these bones disappear
these uncles, fathers mothers, sons and daughter
bleed out the thirst
in the coldest of heats
in the buried shoes
buried parts of clothes
the buried dreams
mexican centro american
dreams fade into the sand
bodies of the american landscape
growing up mexican american in east los angeles
you forget sometimes that there are bigger racisms
in the world. or that the racisms are not part of the norm
its a complicated border cultura that comes in waves
whenever we crossed the border of east los angeles and
into monterey park. there was a very likely chance
that we were going to get pulled over. most definitely
told we fit the description of the vehicle they were looking for
but you get used to it. you get used to the harassment of getting
out of the car. whether it was a cadillac, honda, saab, toyota
it didn’t matter. you just so happened to always be inside the vehicle
they were looking for. but you don’t fight against it. you don’t say
anything . partly of course because you don’t want to make things
worse. but partly because you feel like. its annoying. and part of your life
nobody tells you this isn’t normal behavior. because its the normal
behavior we were used to facing in the barrio.
photo credit image
we make list that honor our memory and honor
the flesh and bone of the arrow we are putting out
- mexican burrito jazz with salsa from an abuela who loves tito puente
- mexican apocalypse in the middle of sunday tacos
- we become the hunger for social justice
- Mexican Monarch Butterfly Warriors
- Stone Tongue Song Interlude
- Olmeca Cadence
- From Traumara to Almost Dissapeared
- The Walking Tonatiuh
- The Bleeding Coyoxauhqui
- To be Continued #Mexicanjazz
todos cruzamos la frontera
de la alma que nos espera
con la libertad de nuestras
manos adentro de la pacha mama
abriendo las partes de nuestra memoria
que puede recordar abrir al alma y las alas
en los ojos
we are the breaking light
migrating across queztalcoatl
taking the parts of the ocean
that are from the womb where we came
from taking the parts of the sand
that mirror who i really am
taking apart the deception
that somehow I’m separate