Poetry
before Momma left Mexico
planted bits of herself
in the ground to sell across la colonia,
wondering why her father
loved the distilled bloom of mezcal
more than his liver and children.
plucked bouquets of flowers
from bleeding earth
with a residual sliver
of Grandma Juana's
uterus still in her nails
danced the best corn dance
in the pueblo of Mochitlán
to honor La Santa Ana,
her fertile beauty
galloping the streets, aggravating
male eyes into a groping parade.
collected empty
and half-filled bottles
from tourists to redeem
for pesos -- the prettiest maid
in a hotel room
that would never be hers.
my nineteen-year-old papa saved
her from the ninth floor of La Palapa
with a forged paycheck to show
he was worthy.
enamored, she waved
goodbye to the streets of Acapulco,
never again to witness such romance.
letters to Acapulco, my Mother's home
open
your bay
and show me how
sand and sleep
congregate.
ask
your cliff divers
why they plunge
up into tear ducts,
with an unleveled heart
as their Quebrada.
listen
to the decades’
labor to live,
glittered and dull.
engrave
your Nahautl name
in my bones – tiny,
like on a grain of rice.
pretend
you have always been
that souvenir inside me.
Bio: Mae Ramirez
Mae Ramirez is a pocha-poet from Montebello, CA who spent much of her adolescence playing bass guitar in the backyards of East L.A.'s early 2000s punk/ska scene. She now holds an MFA in Creative Writing from California State University, Long Beach where she was a member of the slam poetry team and taught an introductory seminar in writing poetry. She has led numerous Spoken Word and Zine-making workshops at high schools and co-found ¡DUENDE! Long Beach, a grassroots community arts organization that provides creative programming and mentoring for youth. More of her work can be found at ramirezmae.tumblr.com.
