"FACINGFACES 2002 - 04" SELECTED POETRY (Part 2)

Hermanas de Juarez
[ Para Las Hermanas Who Were Murdered in Juarez ]

Hermanas,
hijas,
madres,
comadres,
primas,
nietas,
slim mujeres de bronce,
palo largo
y negro,
they glide thru la noche,
rushing home from work,
free from stale factory air,
their hearts are filed con carino por familia,
thoughts that flow from Juarez
to Puebla, Chiapas, Sonora, Chihuahua,
they are young,
con esperanzas,
suenos de manana on their eyes,
but there are men,
duendes en mascaras,
who hate and desire these women,
sin respeto,
sin alma,
they hunt in shadow of darkness,
hide in corners,
spring out with silent scream,
murder the sangre of our creators,
there is no mercy
in this tearing of skin,
ripping of flesh,
there is no conscience
in these breath-takers,
no remorse for their murders,
las hermans de Juarez
lay bare and dreamless
in fields and rivers,
sin nombres,
their faces are strangers in this place,
that even La Muerte has deserted in fear,
they are discovered at dawn,
by garbage collectors,
other hermanas rushing to work,
their bodies are harvested
like weeds of the field,
limp and damp from morning's dew,
cameras flash,
hungry for flesh,
daily parade of blurred faces,
las hermanas are stacked in neat rows,
marked by dates, no mas,
where they lay forgotten and voiceless,
somewhere a madre,
an abuelita,
knows their name,
somewhere they light candles,
hoping la luz
will discover the face of their invisible hija.



Tres Mas

uno, dos, tres,
it used to be so easy to count
when we were young,
we counted apples.
piñas,
centavos,
these things never had a face
or a breath,
now we count breathless women,
their lungs are flat
and quiet,
how do we count the dead,
their eyes pleading por justicia,
for their name to be recognized.


Flight from genocide

On a poster protest by Malaquias
Montoya of Jo Ann Yellow Bird
kicked in the stomach by Gordon,
Nabraska pig - 9/15/76 - 2 months
later her son, Zintkalazi, was born
dead.

Malaquias - tus ojos son
gritos, hablan con tu
sangre, tu corazon y
hablan la verdad.


Zintkalazi,
child of
Jo Ann Yellow Bird,
became an eagle
just before the kick,
just before the Gordon, Nebraska pig
murdered the mother's cradle
of Jo Ann Yellow Bird,
before it splintered
into shattered stars
and filled the sky
with long wailing lagrimas,
mourning and celebrating
the birth of Zintkalazi
Yellow Eagle Child,
now flying
with his creator.


Suenos Del Mar ~
Dreams Of The Sea

Mis suenos del mar,
my dreams of the sea,
flow within me,
como olas,
waves,
a tide that takes me
back to birth,
journey to this place called mujer,
women,
I have been many spirits,
know the languages
of forest and mountain,
sky and water,
fire and earth,
I have moved without legs,
felt la tierra cool my belly,
sang to my sister moon,
stalked my future ancestors,
I have moved to this place
that soon may be memory,
absorbed into mis suenos del mar,
there is no myth in my power,
I dream reality upon the earth,
flowing determination of Lilith,
is river of my blood,
that sings across broken bones of lost children,
soothes my brothers unnamed anger,
I survive mutilation,
long list of anonymous rapes,
I feel my grandmothers dance behind my eyes,
their footsteps,
lightning on a dark and twisted path,
I find strength in mis hermanas
and daughters who grow
in gardens of my heart's song,
I've been blessed with wings,
discover them beneath my skin,
watch them break free from hesitation
that was a chain around this breath,
I and we,
move into a dreaming sky,
rejoice in wind's caress,
choice of our flight,
we carried our dreams
up rock faced walls of impossibility,
thru parched desert,
unforgiving space,
we are healers of a wounded earth,
split skin of a fearful heart,
we are daughters of moon,
caresser of fear,
liberators of pain,
soft mist that brings peace,
our deep eyes sing ancient mysteries,
our hands bathe you in old rhythms,
thru our struggles,
we lay against each other,
music bends us like supple willows,
we are breath of our abuelitas,
we dance history,
circle of embraces on soft earth floor,
wind is our song,
twisting in pain
to discover injustice covered with lies,
our song is the past,
future,
now,
blending,
soft breath breeze,
river flowing memories,
dreams,
visions,
sounds,
touch in passion,
in peace,
hermanas,
sisters,
moving thru layers of images,
between life and death,
occurrence and wish,
where no border exists,
except a frozen teardrop,
reminder of love,
giver of courage that melts
into our dreams of the sea,
mis suenos del mar.


© Phil Goldvarg - Usa