Poetry
Palmas últimas / Kasayeo’s Washintonia Filifera
From Huizache 10
Anna Flores
It’s said the desert’s last true palm self-shears, dropping dead fronds by way of storm. The trees
are glaciation descendants. Know an
ocean’s true name. Know when desert arrived. Leaf-less and blood welded, my body is a knowing I cannot fall away from.
Ambahan: Araw ng mga Patay (Día de los Muertos)
From Huizache 10
Barbara Jane Reyes
I am giving you this smoke
rolled tobacco, flowered herbs
tanglad and clean fire, I burn
sandalwood incense, I burn
crackling pine branches, I burn
verses carved on bamboo stalks
verses from dreams and full moons
candles that smell like roses
handfuls of soil,
Only the Snow Will Quiet the Robin
From Huizache 9
Monica Rico
She had meat hooks he said.
Her mirror, empty
as the picture she kept of her sister,
almost a twin.
Let me get this straight,
No More Sad Mexicans
From Huizache 9
José Olivarez
where are all the Mexicans who aren’t going to heaven?
tell them to bring their Dickies & their slides & their rosary beads & all their heartbreak & all their primos y primas y primxs. tell them to leave their flags & bring a six pack or something to throw on the grill.
Don Daniel’s Bouganvillia
From Huizache 9
Vanessa Díaz
I’d always come home
from running and come
across Don Daniel, sometimes
alone, sometime with his wife,
their possession of dirt,
a small, cramped country
of ripe fruit, aloe vera, lavender.
The bougainvillea vines
would climb over my eyes
Don’t Hold Back
From Huizache 6
Melissa Lozano
My mother is 21,
conjuring María Félix, smolder
kohl eye.
She is the sound of freeways at rush hour crashing hips. Hourglassed—an ache.
She wears a beehive of unanswered questions: Curios, feathers, silences, heart songs, grafted tongue.
The Sound of an American Flag Burning
From Huizache 6
Nikolai Garcia
It’s the sound you hear
when you turn off your TV.
It’s the sound that old men make at night
as they’re sleeping on the sidewalk,
outside an empty loft building.
It’s the sound of air escaping your mouth
after you get the notice
that the rent is increasing.
Este Puño/Dispatches from
Barbed Wire
From Huizache 6
Abigail Carl-Klassen
They still built the wall. Even though we marched downtown, jackets and ties peering down from high rises as we shouted, ¡Muro, no. Pueblo sí! After we shut down Paisano, horns pressed, sage smoke rising, matachines barefoot and rattling. After we sipped sangre de Cristo through chain links year after year on Día de los Muertos. After our mayors declared,¡Ya basta! San Diego to Brownsville.
Abuelita’s Garden with Parakeet That Says Hijaputa
From Huizache 5
Javier Zamora
Abuelita’s mother died when she was one. No one talks about Tatarabuela
or about how Abuelita draws her eyebrows on at dawn.
I saw them once when I pretended to snore.
Abuelita’s name should be Rocío because she wakes at 5 to water plants. My aunts say her name means truth in some language no one speaks.
Suzi Writes a Poem
From Huizache 5
Jessica Helen Lopez
Suzi write a poem
Write a poem Suzi
You will need a pencil
lined paper and the ability
to abide by the rules
Suzi listen
Follow Suzi follow
my instruction Suzi squeeze
your poem like a baby bird…
Secret Missionary for the Virgin Mary is off his meds
From Huizache 4
Sheryl Luna
He writes of grenades, a universe exploding.
It’s inexhaustible, the sky. Something about badness
turns him on. Passion a candle with two wicks.
He says to me, “Keep burning.”
He is often falling out of love.
The Bolero of Lupe Vélez
From Huizache 3
Alejandro Murguía
The movieland glamour magazines thrive on Lupe Vélez. They thirst for this Mexican beauty. They just drink her up. Her face graces the cover of Film Weekly, Motion Picture, Cinelandia, and True Confessions, over and over, as if they couldn’t help themselves. Couldn’t keep their cameras away from her obsidian black hair, her flashing eyes, the cupcake mouth, and all those society parties, husbands, lovers,
An Unknown
From Huizache 3
Casandra Lopez
for Jim Thorpe (Wa-Tho-Huk/Bright Path) and J.M. Lopez
Jim was always running away from schools, and who knows
what else. One of the greatest athletes in the world is born
in what is called Indian Territory, but on this continent isn’t it all.