Tag: chicano
-
Prayers to the Saints of Prison (excerpt)
The vowels are in solitary confinement The consonants are being beaten by sadistic dictionaries . . .
-
Original World
OUR ANIMALSdance with usdance to the invaders musicpara burlarse de sus notas y ritmos[to make fun of their notes and rhythms]We hear their musicand our hearts and mouths destroy their harmonieswith the windwith the waterwith the soil and her dusty laughterYou may never understandour pitcheshow we squeal the songsstrike our bones to start the fireshow […]
-
Writing the veins | Where our stories come from
My ink is the web of life, a sunburned heart, thirty kilometers of veins, holding up the calcinated skeleton of migrants. I scribble from the tips of my fingers to the octopus buds that nestle under my tongue the stories and struggles, singing from the bed of each night. I do not leave a […]
-
arnoldo garcía: I want to share the moon with you…
I want to share the moon with you…holy breadpale burnt tortillapock-marked facerotting mirrorantarctic slipwounded smileloudspeaker of sunsdisposable tambourinefrying cymbalgriddled planeingestable hands I want to cut my wrists with the moon…so all the oceans will come gushing outbecoming impotent crayons and a scar of dark matteron either tear ducts of your sex I want to […]
-
arnoldo garcía: i am a ghost
There are days when i believe i am a ghost haunting stairwells and abandoned migrant camps sleeping with Billie Holiday and getting drunk with drunk Indians Being pulled into seance sessions with bolshevik clouds Having to possess her body to become real Ghosts do not cry. Ghosts do not die. Ghosts have unfinished revolutions. I cry so […]
-
arnoldo garcía: relationships
I am related to you by tenderness, not trauma.I am connected to you by a woman, not fists.I am related to you by the longest, deepest embrace; not the jackal that wears a doctor’s smock.I am veins, lungs, skeleton, mud, moon, cenote, maize, besos on your lips, inhaling the DNA of your wounds. Silence […]
-
arnoldo garcía: soul seas
My tenderness will absolve my rageOr else I will have to eat my fingersSo that I can never carry a weaponother than an ink potwhere I will dip the nubs of my blindnessto scribble your names…I will not die on the border of nothingnessI was born to live in a sea ofcolors,pigment,abandoned bones and […]
-
arnoldo garcía: When I die |
When I dieI will be so deadYou will have to invent a fake lifeto match my real deathI will be such a big deaththat everyone will enjoythe musical compositionof my decomposing body of work,inhaling the stench of my improvisationsMy blues will finally be about being down, out and dead.Laying there in my coffinplease know […]
-
arnoldo garcía: Migrant ghost heart
She is now just an idea, a deep memory an ancestor a sister a woman a ghost heart in my mind in my veins in my half life Her body was her own utopia she gave herself over to one man only gave birth to sons who married and had daughters and one son […]
-
arnoldogarcía: Billie Holiday | day seven poetry month
She sings:My heart is in BaltimoreMy voice is scatteredin the ruins of your bruisesWinter alwayshangs ’roundthe cornerof my eyesSpringis handcuffedto my bluesWherever she goesI will follow on my kneesShe sleeps:There was a manwho buried his handsin the gardenia of my sunsInhaled the DNA of my sufferingto erase the darknessAnd take me awaybusting me out of my cocoon She […]
Artofthecommune's Blog 