Poetic musings
The Andes mountains
are etched in my bones
the carvings tingled
as I walked among them.
They sang
an ancestral song
and my heart
knew her words.
When I laid on the grass
in Machu Picchu
listening to the ground
it whispered
revealing my past life.
the majestic silhouette
embedded
whenever my eyelids
close.
To my fellow teachers
Reading rosters
with names that
don’t roll off the tongue
the names that require
extra thought
extra effort and
the respect to be pronounced correctly
there’s always
an Appreciation
for the attempts
And there’s always a story
mine is of a soap opera
a Gypsy in love with a naval officer
the story of how
ye
Makes a j
Sound in
Spanish class
the only teachers
who could say it
without hesitation
my five-year-old self
changed my name to Sonia
while visiting Perú
because it made more friends
This for the names
that don’t appear on
souvenir cups
plates
or shirts
My student told me
most of my teachers
can’t say my name and it’s OK
and I told her no
they need to just say it
no matter how many times it takes.
Write me lines
like Neruda
Write about an invincible love
that all of nature knows,
how it conspires
to help us blossom
Write your lines
on my body
Do to me
what spring does with the cherry trees
my bones will store our secrets
Write 100 sonnets
inspired by our
mornings
afternoons
nights
Write odes about
my laughter
hands
eyes
Write about our bond
that when my eyes close
They’re with your dreams
Escríbeme en español
porque sabes que es
la única lengua
que mi alma entiende ***
Write
so our spirits can
communicate
across distance and time
Write me these lines
and I’ll love you without pride
Without questioning
where, how or when
Write these lines with your actions
Because I write lines too
Don’t want to spend nights
writing the saddest verses
like I have before
feeling the weight of your absence
because loving someone
is short
But to forget them
is so
long.
***Write to me in Spanish
because you know
that it’s the only language
my soul understands
Surfing the crimson waves
Seeing bright red
Purple red clots
And brown
Between my panties
Periods are full
Of irony
My belly bloats
As if
I’m 3 months pregnant
except I’m not
My breasts swell
Like they have milk
But they don’t
Sneezing
Unleashes
Niagara Falls
Blood clots
Like thick
Jello
Except the gross kind
Tracking my period
Taking Motrin
Praying I took it
Early enough
Otherwise
It’ll cause goosebumps
And feel like an iron fist
Clenches
And lets go of my uterus
I’ve never understood
Why
My body tortures me
For not having a baby
If and when
I have a baby
It’ll just get
Tortured in a
Different way
And all I can do
Is sit here in my
Misery
Crying for no reason
Hating my boyfriend
Annoyed by his breathing
But knowing that
He’s seen my blood
And didn’t runaway
So he’s a keeper
Riding a rollercoaster
Of emotions
Because of mood swings.
My monthly bill
Has come
Deciding between
Tampon
Pad
Or cup
Costing me money
To control bleeding
That has a mind of it’s own
I paid
The cashier
He wished me
A good weekend
Both knowing
It wouldn’t be
For me
Staining everything
That’s why you have
Period underwear
On reserve
Memories of failed attempts
At having sex
Stained towels
All to messy
For my taste
It’s sometimes
Like that uninvited family member
That overstays its welcome
But brings a good gift
Grateful that I’m bleeding
And have no baby
But sadness for those
Trying to have a baby
Periods smell
I splash every crevice
Out of paranoia
To not let the world
Know
But maybe I do
Instead of giving
The typical how are you
Response
Maybe I’ll just answer
By reading this poem
And politely
Ask for chocolate
If they’d like me
To stop
The woman scientist said PMS
Isn’t real
Probably
Wants a career
In politics
Because periods are a weakness
However
Every month
I show up to work
Wearing black
Forgiving Clothing
Giving pads to
My students who have
Synced up
Faking it till I make it
With my chin up.
The warmth of your
furry little body
the sweetest of sensations
Freed from your cage
Reborn as my lady
Liberty
Velvet black coat
like a tuxedo
with a white patch
you meow hello
you meow wake up
meow meow meow
feed me
the best alarm clock
snuggling me at a
quarter to five
sleeping at my feet
above my head, on my chest
or next to my bosom
and humming a purring melody
you patiently wait
every morning as I
fight past my morning haze
as my left foot
searches for one slipper
and the right follows next
our noses kiss
to say goodbye
and hello
every day you adjust
into the sweetest
nap time poses
one paw lazily
extends past another
or covers your face
sleep sleep sleep
yawn yawn yawn
and belly rubs
innocent face hunter
you pounce, wail
determination etched
on your face
eyes green like grapes
widen every time
I eat chicken
You’re like Garfield
trapped in a skinny
body
Harder for you
to get adopted
because you have FIV
which is cat HIV
Grateful that I found you
because you’re the perfect
kitty to me.
Protesting is American
after feeling betrayed
and afraid
Comforted by messages
from the picket lines.
The people united
will never
be defeated
Muslim lives matter
Black lives matter
Trans lives matter
Crowds of marginalized
and majority
because white silence
equals
violence.
No to
sexism
homophobia
Islamophobia
Racism
Xenophobia
Arms in arms
Building this country
this is what
democracy looks like
Reality is richer
than fiction
I found the dress
I was raped in
and didn’t know
what to do with it.
I haven’t for years
You know the dress too,
Marilyn Monroe’s iconic
white dress
cooling herself
over a subway grate.
It happened on a Halloween
I was her
he was pimp
reality, richer than fiction.
The first poem
I ever wrote
was titled, “Dirty White”
written at 12
about a woman
raped
feeling dirty
in a dress
on her wedding day,
foreshadowing my own
event.
I’ve contemplated,
burning it
as if the fire
could burn away the memory,
I’ve thought about
giving it away
but fearful that
it will be someone else’s
misfortune.
I’ve thought about
washing and wearing it
a bizarre testament
that I’ve healed
then dread washes over me
like unexpected rain
that it will happen again.
Marilyn and I are bonded
insight into
a polarizing figure
the sadness behind her eyes
the madness that consumed her
but shines effortlessly on screen
Impossible to look away from
her reality greater than fiction.
I’ve thought about
my experiences
Trying to justify
Find reasoning
Accepted that I’m given what
I can handle.
My poetic purpose interpreting
reality richer than fiction.
I wish I could
be seen
inside
out
Maybe it’d be easier
to see the complexities
you would see
how much
I’m covered
in cobwebs
commonly known
as anxiety.
I have scars
inside
and out
You’d see
jagged wounds
that never properly
healed.
The outside is scarred
by neurosis,
I compulsively
pick
at anything
that doesn’t belong.
I scratch off scabs
I hate
the way they feel
and look,
rough
I pick
searching for new skin
to be seen.
I force myself
to embrace
my bare face
my version
of aversion therapy.
Last week
I wore my armor,
make up
But when I glazed
in the mirror
I didn’t recognize myself
I love my ninja turtle shirt
just as much as my maxi dress
love flip flops
just as much as stilettos
Neither defines me.
My imperfections
are magnified
in my eyes
and it’s always relative
you never appreciate
the present enough
till it’s the future
If I’m inside
out
you’ll see my fat
just hanging
in all it’s flabby
glory
not hidden
under black clothing
or
forgiving fabrics.
If only you’d see me
my muscle tendons
stringy like red yarn
instead of my
involuntary vanilla complexion,
my genes decided to arbitrarily
adhere to European
standards of beauty
without my permission
I’ve heard confessions
admiring my Casper complexion
“Todo te queda bien con tu piel”
Everything looks good with your
skin tone
admissions of colonized mentalities
“You don’t look Peruvian”
as if they had seen
all the millions of us
because when I walked around
in Lima
I saw a bunch of my clones,
my Peruvian people recognized
me as their own.
“You’re too pretty to be Peruvian”
Instantly degrading
devaluing Indigenous
and African beauty
which is my real make up
I’m sure my bones
have etched on them
the entire Andes mountain
range
and my heart
beats to the rhythm of el cajon.
I wish you could see me
as I see you
inside,out
all it takes
is a look of the eyes
The cliche holds true
The glaze of envy
that for your own sake
I hope is temporary
the narrow minded
the angry glint
of ignorance
but
I’m comforted when I meet
kindness
compassion
and general goodness.
I wish I was inside out
see my soul
the color it is
I’ve always been fond of pink
maybe the soul is the aura
of the heart
That’s the part of me
I really wish you could see
how vulnerable
and sensitive
it beats.
I love you
and I hope
I showed
or spoke
those words to you
every day.
I’m 27 borderline 28
and you’re nowhere
on the horizon
Right now
I’ve been working
making the world
a little better
before you arrive
I know
I’ll have called
you a leader
more than
princess
You will play more
than house
unless it involves
how to build that
house.
You will be beautiful
from the inside
out
Strength is our legacy
You come from your
great great abuela Matilde
who was a feminist
before the term
even existed.
you come from
Aurora y Ortencia
Fairy tale abuelas
known for their love
Love is my superpower
and will be yours too
Love, to understand
love, to have patience
love so you can forgive
love because it’s the closest
thing to magic.
You come from your
bisabuela Laura
A single mother
in 1950s Peru
selling tamales to survive.
She cooked from the heart
and had magical pots
that made enough food
for everyone.
you come from your
bisabuela Angela
whose hips gave birth
to 12 children
Patient
Making all of their clothes
Passed early on
but immortalized
by naming almost every female
after her.
you come from your abuela
Angela
with unparalleled work ethnic
never greedy
taught me how to be giving
because there’s always someone
in a worse position
You also come from me,
when life hands me
tough at bats
I always swing for the fences
when you find yourself
in difficult positions
pause
be grateful
Take it as a compliment from God
because we are only given
what we can handle.
I’m 27 borderline 28
and I’m learning every day
how to be better
how to take the high road
and not stray.
I’ll always be in your corner
gently guiding
but I will tell you
when you’re wrong.
I will not judge your mistakes
because I love you already.
I think about the day
we finally meet
and hold you.
I aspire to be your role model
but you will have a great destiny
be my greatest legacy
I love you
and I don’t even know you
Mi hija,
live life fearlessly
don’t be intimated by
darkness
or heartbreaks
because you’re blessed
by God’s grace.
You are not a victim
but a survivor.
Victims are paralyzed
survivors find strength
in the pain
You did not ask for this
but now you’re shining,
a lighthouse
to those who did not get
their day in court.
Using your voice
to testify against
injustice of class and privilege
not going quietly into the night
rape perpetrators need to live in fear
not us.
I read your story
with wet eyes,
as survivors
we are bonded
empathizing through the process
rape is rape
Rape can happen
behind dumpsters
with a stranger,
at college party
with a friend,
in your home
with a spouse,
at home with
a family member
regardless of circumstances
rape is rape.
20 minutes of action caused
irrevocable damage to you
the public to dissect
the worst experience of your life
But I can tell you that
slowly
you will feel your worth again
the nightmares will stop
you will feel safe
you will find intimacy
you will feel confident
most importantly,
your voice and power
have already been found.
You are not a victim,
you are surviving
and soon you will be
thriving.
Courage found in your vulnerability
soak up your own words,
you are beautiful
you are valued
you are respected
you are powerful
and I am with you.
An Independent Non-Discriminatory Platform With No Religious, Political, Financial, or Social Affiliations
The Musings of a Writer / Freelance Editor in Training
from my heart to yours
True wealth is the wealth of the soul
River Dixon
Your home for everything artistic
Yesenia Guerra 