Memories of a Daughter of Immigrants

My father is an immigrant. He crossed the Mexico/US border as teenager, on his own, to find another life. My father is from a small, rural, town in Mexico. We live in Los Angeles, the second largest city in the country. The Second Largest City in the Country. His town’s population hovers around 1,000 people.…More

I Won’t Tell

I shouldn’t read Maya Angelou books With a knowing greed I tear through them waiting Waiting for the lurid secret revealed And as I devour the foul thing my insides expand and my breathing labors under the weight of it There’s a pressure from within pressing outward trying in vain to find release Who did…More

Howling to Emptiness

Aoooooooohhhhhhhhh!!!!!! I’m howling. But no one seems to hear. I’m hurting, but I don’t seem to feel. Madness. Self-serving, legitimate action, Stupidity, willful ignorance – who can tell the difference anymore. When I lashed out in pain at those who had voted for Trump I received admonishments from people who defended their reasoning, defended themselves…More

Las Palabras

Se me resbalan las palabras, entre mis dedos, se escapan. Y me dicen que no debería dejarlas ir hasta que no sean perfectamente lo que deben ser. Hasta que me hagan justicia sin error a lo que quiero decir. Pero como villana voy corriendo por todas las esquinas donde suelen esconderse y las espanto. Las…More

Ponte a Vivir

Que esperas? An invitation? Ponte a vivir! Siente las olas de esta vida, deja que la ola te pegue en el pecho: suavemente, despacio, y con sabor. Y acaso eso no es vivir? El sentir. So much to feel. Feel the music, let it sway your hips side to side. Absorb the rhythm. Slowly taking…More

Mi derecha y mi izquierda

Sera que mi derecha es la ascendencia Europea? La misma mano que estrecho al saludar pero con la que no puedo escribir? Y mi izquierda el lado indígena? Que con mucho gusto se pone a soñar de tierras morenas? De días sin tiempo. De abuelos con frentes nobles y narices con la capacidad para respirar por…More


Y yo aquí, acostada en el sol ardiente, esperando que me queme lo blanco.More

Grey Days

Like a hopeful lover it hovers in the sidelines. It creeps up quietly, trying to find a foothold – a reason to stay. So much light, so much love, so much opportunity and it doesn’t matter. If my guard is down and life is a tinge of grey I feel it on my shoulders. I feel it…More


Sadly, I don’t have a monopoly on pain. Even when it expands to the point that I feel it, drip, drip from my pores, no more room. I try to contain it. I swallow harder, its roughness scraping my throat – like sharp elbows refusing to relax as I push it down, to where it…More