I caught glimpses of her through sugar cracks in ripe yellow walls.
Her presence makes me want to paint mixed-media murals, on her skin, with found objects.
She said we came from the same cloud.
I’d say the same thing, if I hadn’t already known my semilla sprouted in soil.
She comes with fire & water from the west. Like desert monsoons, she digs rivers out of dry beds and electrifies the night sky.
Our elements intersect like our identities, to teach us lessons we have yet to learn.
Life Lessons, Love Lessons.
what it means to love ourselves first.
how to love people who look like us.
what it feels like when we let love take up the space that fear usually owns.
I hope that love squats in these spaces long enough to turn them into homes.
Homes with walls built from earth to protect the love that lives inside, not keep it out.
Where deep roots grow in backyard gardens of kitchens, where abuelitas feed five generations from one olla.
When she sings I can hear voices of ancestors we’ve never met.
They make music together with chords that were never played and keys that were never sung.
The spiritual needs no rehearsal. Synchronicity is greater than science.
We see shadows from the smoke of burning medicine under the moonlight, as we dream, dance, laugh, and love.
Mujer, I call you magic and I mean it.