In My Dreams, You Drown

Had you not violated Her shores,
the cute curl in my hair might’ve been stillborn;

but if you had never plagued Her soil,
my heart would have more
than just dreamed
of feathers on my crown,
of driftwood necklaces
dancing areitos on my breast.

Some have argued that
had you not come when you did,
then an entire people would have missed
the arts and horses and blessings and gifts
birthed out of La Santa María’s belly.

I’ve tried to see things as they do,
searched for ways to celebrate your alleged good;

but there are no blessings to be found
in the burning of Hatuey,
in your rape of my Quisqueya.

In my dreams of Discovery,
your chicanery drowns before reaching India.
Yes, I would miss my darling curl,
but never enough to wish you
a happy day of breath.

Decolonize Your Mind, by Eloy Bida

- just in case the poem’s lack of subtlety is not subtle enough, I’d like to let everyone know that I really, really, REALLY loathe the way history has portrayed Christopher Columbus and his so-called discovery of America.

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Writers’ Pantry #93: NaNoWriMo Anyone?

The Wheel of the Year

Autumn takes
buzzing bees, butterflies on blooms,
and so many birds.

October brings
festive gourds, grinning skulls,
and grows tiny gardens in my hearth.  

Winter is coming… spring and summer too.

One of my favorite bits about the cold months is that my living room becomes a wee jungle. I enjoy seeing Halloween decorations and making pumpkin chili, too. But the terrace-garden-to-living-room-jungle conversion is by far the best.

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Weekly Scribblings #92: Forward Movement (where we are asked to “write something on the theme of ‘Forward Movement’, in whatever way [we] choose to interpret that.” My muse and I focused on the constant movement of the seasons, on what is lost… on what is gain… and on what moving with The Wheel of the Year offers.