Writing is where I work out so much of the intersection of identities, and when I first started the journey to publish I found my work was getting rejected by white run and led publishing houses. My work often feels too white to fit in Latinx journals, too Latinx to fit in white journals. My …
We need truth in our lives. For the first half of 2018, these books were my satsang. Changing is hard, especially within a system. Not all of us can go to India or Canada or Peru for a year (though if you can, go on with with your bad self!). On the other …
I am unexpected. I am an out of wedlock pregnancy that solidified a union. I am a gentle kick inside my mother’s womb on her wedding day. I am the stiff upper lip as the word divorce falls upon me, wide eyed and stoic. I am a child silently hovering in the garage watching my …
Imagine the muffled sounds Of a seed weeping Begging the rain to stop At 10cm no mother Wishes death upon her baby But the sound of her tears Are the same It is the bursting in the rainstorm That brings forth new life The seed knows not what is coming And waters herself. Not believing …
Fragile and fleetingTheir growth shadows my ownI look up and there are linesIn my face Lines I’ve earnedLines I do not want erasedBy now my neuroticism has softened By way of experienceI do not wash their handsOr clean their earsWith such precision But it happened in an instantTruly, a moment The days I longed to …
I want to teach my children The nature of thingsHow on a blistering cold dayThe sun will be shiningThen rain will pour relentlesslyIn the middle of July You will arrive at the poolFloaties strapped to your armsHobbling aroundSmelling of sunscreen and hopeThe thunder will comeThe lifeguard will blow the whistleQuietly grateful for a day’s rest …
“You need a hobby” he says“Something you like to do”And there’s privilege in that statementIt hits me sitting here on the floorCutting out my hair that’s clogged the vacuum cleanerMy postpartum hair that never stopped falling outIt hits me as I rip the clumps of mefrom it’s roaring mouth To the maddening sound ofThe latest …
Grief is not limited to the months After funerals. The psychic corpses that litter my mind outweigh the physical corpses I have held in my hands. These corpses can include — Letting go of the sister I always wanted First years of life stolen by depression No soft hands on my back as a child …
A quick search reveals thatJanet and Condoleezza never marriedand never had children. So I traded their blazers for aprons. This choice, my choice, is conscious.My womb was built for this job:raising healers, creatives, and lovers. Raised by Murphy Brown and Oprah,you told me I have to choose.So I choose them, all three of them. Even my …
Like a new day dawning Morning dew glistening The rainbows of light glimmer through my windows at sunrise I take a deep breath I exhale I am at peace To dance wildly and intimately With my pain As it continues to haunt me As it pounds on my door, And to know truly It is …