I was born
in the mouth
of the Río Bravo
the untamable river
the wild roots of the crystaline waters
that traverse our bodies
I was born
in the mouth
of the Río Bravo
as the monarchs arrived
carrying the harvest on their wings,
a mosaic
of squash, maize and frijol
I was born
from the purépecha’s misty pine tree covered volcanic thrust
commingling with the palestinian wound
My grandmother
manuela, healer, seed carrier
My grandfather
caretaker of earth
struggled
with their eldest daughter
Coatlicue
on what was happening
to her body
I was born and
given as a gift
to Coatlicue’s parents
to raise me
and I became
El viejo, el viejito
Arnoldo
named after Coatlicue’s lover’s best friend
and not after the place we go
to pray, Tamaulipas
Coatlicue disappeared
and I kept her
in the caverns
of my body
I grew up
with her eleven brothers and sisters
and named my daughters
after my grandparents
the women who who labor
to ensure we do not become machines
My elders
sat across from me
sharing a meal
we were
each other’s mirros
of the past, present, future
I followed Abuelita
(in ceremony)
who taught me
how to walk
and to always offer water
to anyone
who came to our door
Abuelita said
You must treat everyone you meet with reverence and respect
You never know if that person at the door or that passes by on your path
is a holy being
And if you don’t know what to do
always answer
always respond
with you dignity.
My grandfather’s body vibrated with the dust of horizon and plants
He could find any place we migrated to work
His prayer beads
were the constellations
He would pull back his head way back as in ecstasy
under
the star-filled
night
as he prayed
In his left hand his beads
Inn his right hand the constellations
He loved Manuela
and worked
every
single
day
of his life
so that she could do her work
of healing . . .
August 2024 | Santa Cruz-Oakland
[Poem & photograph: arnoldo colibrí (c) ]
