Mí Boca Seca, and: Re|Zil|Ience

Mí Boca Seca

yesterday i re-learned how it feels when mouth is dry and words are absenthow mymother and hermother knew how to keep theirs closed, how they combed long oily hair into braid into    incarceration,

yesterday i felt the difference between inandout backandforth upanddownhow i simply didn't want to spread but did it anyway, fell for the trap became weak at the tip of his    cock, how he kept repeating just the tip just the tip,

yesterday i heard explosion in brown ears as eyes squinted shuthow loneliness devours spirit soul and song even in times of cholera where love is disguised as force    forced forcing, how beds become cells become hell,

but today will turn counterclockwise and scream as if being deportedhow no means no means no is just a saying and bottles will still pop cigarettes will still burn and    bruises will learn when to underbloom unconsume unassume untomb

and tomorrow who knows how my broken body will heal will wake up from eternityhow these Chicano piñata lungs will continue inflating uprising uproaring for a grain of hope and    respect and maybe one or two little memories to slip in when my mouth dries.

RE|ZIL|IENCE

I am here to claim my power. my history. my peoples.To rip open piñatas with dead oranges rotten apples old Snickers bars,And for what? For them to laugh and point and arrest and kill,para que nos traten como basura y nos digan abusadores matadores cabrones

        I am here to walk run through deserts, talk sing about murdered women in Juárez,        about drugs forced down throats organs buttholes, go go go fly fly fly, transport.                Mí sangre de Azteca de Chicano de Americano de toda gente indígena!

I am here to write poems about race and place, taking La Virgen De Guadalupe and lighting her acandle in my room where dildos hide in brown boxes under the bed.I am here with open arms and eyes and legs                 and heart. I AM HERE.