Saturday, April 17, 2010
I go to the place where my sisters and brothers
pray, where the sky and the river zip lock the horizon.
my river's banks are lips
that kiss the feet of lovers
or migrants crossing over
her smile is muddy, wild, indomable
the nature of the next community. Mud
is the mixture of life, eggs embracing semen
the amino acids that convulse and conspire with life.
I was born in the middle of this muddy river,
a people arose from her mud
and now we drink muddy waters
to ingest our ancestors
Upon your, my, death
Throw my body into the wild
river where I was born.
Let her swallow me, sweep
me out into the gulf where the salt
will dissolve me return me
to where I started, where
Guadalupe conceived me.
I drink my coffee, begin the day
scribbling against the madness
so that I can get my heaven my landless place
that I long for.
I can't beat on my guitar anymore
my guitar is no substitute
for your embrace
I have practiced all my life
that's why I give myself no
choice other than to work and
to love, to write what is
mine, ours, what is yours
what is my ancestors, my future
wherever I go. My work my
love is this everyday life
of rising, planting and imagining uprisings
maybe few if anyone notices
that we are all the same
what matters above all else is
how we treat and greet each other
work, love, words, struggle, movements, community -- it's all the same...