snake song

I am the snake
in the desert sand, who
just found the perfect rock
surface against which to
scratch, peel, tear off this
old, dry skin and reveal the
regenerated flesh
below.

Little by little I leave
my dead skin behind
like an ugly shell,
useless, void of life and
being. Discarded it blows
away, and I slither
onward.

Thank you, Creator, for the
newness of life you bring,
the sweetness of the fresh
air on my fresh skin, even
in this dry sand, I am
revived.

a young woman's prayer

Love my hair
The things it wears
The thoughts it bears
Love my mind
Memories stored
Images bored
Love my eyes
The tears they cry
The words that fly
Love my lips
The kisses they share
The burdens it bears
Love my back
The strength it supplies
Where feelings arise
Love my heart
The life it sends
Where hunger ends
Love my breasts
Where womanhood dwells
Slowly it swells
Love my womb
Where seeds are sown
Making us moan
Love my sex
Sacred and holy
Touching and holding
Love my hands
Hardworking and able
Strong, fast, and stable
Love my legs
Folding at rest
Humble yet blessed
Love my feet
Love me whole
My body, my soul
Like rain falls from the skies
On one who laughs, cries
Hopes, sighs
Believes, denies
Fails, flies
Lives, dies
Love me all, love me true
And keep me loving you

clear water bends the light

Clear water bends the light.
Light and shadow ripple on skin, beautiful.
texture (pebbles on smooth rocks)
texture (pillowy slippery algae spots)
texture (goosebumps and small patches
I missed shaving) The river’s skin
these tiny waves I’m in
Spirit binding particles and waves into
water, rock, woman.
What would I see if my eyes could perceive
that binding reality? Ridges forming Vs
valleys and peaks, my body
repeats the imagery. Concentric rings
forming solid things, sunbeams bend
and show me the beauty.
What all is there that I do not see?
What else is there for you to show me?
Ridges and teeth, all-consuming
we’re all consuming your all-consuming
fire energy cycle sourced
from your power of love.

what are you?

“What are you?”
Nod if you’ve heard that one before,
if you’ve wondered,
what does that even mean?

I’m never really sure of the right answer
so there are a range of responses that I offer.
“I’m American” kind of means nothing,
like I have no heritage worth mentioning.
“Well, my birth certificate says I’m white…”
but with that answer no one is quite satisfied.
“So do you want a list?
Welsh, Spanish, English, Irish,
German, Native American
and maybe a great-great grandmother who was Mexican.”

So what do I know about any of them?
So, what?
And I don’t think my blonde-haired sisters
are ever asked this somewhat innocent
though slightly invasive question,
“What are you?”

But don’t get me wrong, I’m fine.
People don’t discriminate me
though distinctly off-white.
In fact, it’s nice to blend in when
traveling in Latin America or even India.
Why, I’ve had strangers start to speak
to me in all kinds of other tongues
assuming I spoke the same one.
When I was a child, people swore
“She must have been adopted.”
Depending on the degree of my tan
and my current hair style people tend to ask
if I’m Middle Eastern or even half-black.

But now, I’m off-track.
The truth is that race is a biological fiction
and yet it’s a very real social construction -
you can’t find race in our genes,
but you sure can find racism in our streets,
racism that’s justified acts of domination
and taught the so-called “privileged” ones
the melting-pot myth of assimilation.
The more I learn, the more I become
aware of how very little I do know
about what I am, or where I came from.
For heaven’s sake, history books state
there’s a war running through my veins,
some of my ancestors committing rape
and genocide and all kinds of hate
on the others. “Us and them,” not brothers.
Well “us and them” is “us and us” for me
and I want peace. I want to listen to the voice
of my mothers, the white, brown, and red ones.
I cannot in good conscience check any
one box, because to check one
is to deny the others, and to claim one,
I must recognize the ignorance left to be undone.
Imperial conquest institutionalized silence.
Civilized progress leaves me embarrassed
of some and uneducated about the rest.
And maybe I’m not fine because
that does give me pains in my chest.

Our modern glorification of technology,
our stubborn insistence of autonomy,
even our born-again spirituality
can serve to blur the lines that trace
us back to our ancestry.
There is more to me than my ethnicity
but it remains a part of my identity.
I need to find the roots of my family tree,
so I can grow to embody
and embrace the multi-colored leaves
of our common race, our humanity.