BIO
Ariana Mollers (she/her/hers) received an M.Ed from the University of Georgia and a BA from Virginia Tech. Her work explores the complexities of white skin mixed with Bolivian blood, the second generation immigrant experience, and gender. She is a poet and writer who works in higher education while currently living in the New England area.
Ariana can be found on Instagram @wordsinthe_am.
My spanish is a little rusty
I now understand the science of searching
for a word in a language that has never been
mine, the almost alchemy of reaching inside
only to touch rust. Where did they go?
I knew the words once, I swear, but I only find sentences eaten
away by neglect. How do I say--
this is different than the dust of time?
What is the word again--for the pain in pronouncing a
beautiful word that won’t bend? I am trying to conjure
a language that I am scared to hold.
To rust, to corrode, is a spell made
by three bare elements: iron, water, oxygen.
A bitten tongue for blood, a drop of sadness,
and an inhale of air I’ve been holding in for years.
How do I translate--the difference between
forgetting the words and forgetting to speak?
We lock away the heirlooms we don’t want to be
found until the ghosts come to haunt.