La Llorona

My past selves

do not sit at the table with me

do not speak

with my tantric tongue

But still they haunt me

their wounds, still sore

in the places where my pain

meets the whistling wind.

“No se que tienen las flores , Llorona,

Las flores de un camposanto...

Que cuando las mueve el viento, Llorona,

Parece que están llorando...”

Llorona, for you

I build an altar made

of saltwater tears,

a sketch of your lost son

marigolds for memory

May what is now long gone

down the rushing river

become silt and clay

at the mouth of the ocean.

“¡Ay de mi! Llorona, Llorona

Llorona de un campo lírio...

El que no sabe de amores, Llorona

No sabe lo que es martírio...”

Llorona I know

as women we are taught

to be sacrifice for the señores

who steal our heart

Llorona I know

as women we are taught

to swallow the seeds

that sprout from our mother tongue

hold back our spit

and never voice our distress

“Todos me dicen el negro, Llorona

Negro pero cariñoso...

Yo soy como el chile verde, Llorona

Picante pero sabroso...”

Llorona for you

I build an altar made

of self-respect

skipped river stones

tequila and xocolatl

may all the blood you shed upon the earth

suture in time

and clot.