this piece is in the book latina outsiders edited by grisel acosta: There is before the stroke and after the stroke on thankstaking 2012. I lost my ability to focus on the screen of my phone in the cab en route to the emergency room . once there I couldn’t move my legs. I couldn’t stand. Fortunately, I wasn’t paralyzed, but my balance was way off. I no longer dreamed, or actually, I no longer recalled what I dreamed. That was so weird. i am still getting adjusted to a new reality. I really rely on my sister. I don’t know when I became aware of the polenysian word mana meaning soul. But it’s a very intriguing concept. An abbreviation of the Spanish word for sister, hermana, could be ‘mana- a soul sister in this life-a sister resister. Roles my ‘mana and i don’t actually share or exchange: wife and mother and aunt. All three roles are held by a chicana. All three of them are held by a Latina. Neither of us- me or my hermana- are immigrant. We are u.s.america born. We are resisters...
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i just went to an exhibit i really wanted to go to, here's my response: Las aparencias engañan Really it was a garage sale with everything displayed, Although absolutely nothing was for sale Most people gawked Sucking the spiritual energy Like pac-man Not me The stuff made Me sad That she was now dead I thought of all the stuff that Makes me me Nail polish Scarves Sketch books Photographs Paintings Rings Bracelets Books Postcards I wanted to tell the annoying people To buy the book of the exhibit Taking forbidden cheaper Pictures With their stupid smartphones Pictures of old stuff Old clothes Old sketches Delicate, fragile things That Once Surrounded Life Photographs of dead things Photographs that could never Capture life
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Despite the smallness of my Texas hometown, I did not know her. I reached as I stared at her peaceful face in the local paper but I did not recognize the brown hair, careful make-up,toothless,silent smile age 26, .deceased. her accused murderer boasted no Heisman trophy,no t.v. charm, no millions for a glib lawyer. A poor, young chicana from robstown might as well be an irrelevant existence. Tally up another dead woman. I counted them trying to jump over fences and tripping over their big toes.somehow, I didn’t fall asleep.i wish I had known her. Every summer, I returned home to tally up another dead woman. a culture that venerates nuestra virgin maria, our mother, shouldn’t be letting it’s mothers bleed to death at the hands of husbands and lovers. maybe , it’s black and white, but I want to puke all over the print. I want to see it become pulpy and frothy with the pizza I ate for lunch. I wish I had known her. The eerie thing about parochial school is that church across the way,...