The mind, a dormant stone

I heard it for myself, but I didn’t understand it. It was mumbled, passed under the air, the translation was kind, so I don’t really believe it; but why would you say that, mom? Why say that…? Were you pushed to a wall and forced to finally speak? My self-esteem cannot release me because I don’t even know if I am looking at myself anymore. I pray to god and I pray to god. I know the mother spirit is listening and is there with me through the struggle, I know my heart is good, but what did I hear? Was that you, finally coming exposed? Did you ever want me, or want us, my sister and I; that have been dragged over fields by our hair, screaming for peace, unconditional love, from the lap of you…? We want more , yes. We do. Your face has always been in my memory: A smile from the shadows; maybe always an illusion to the mother I wanted to see; one who gave love. Jessica M. Wilson 9/9/16 Friday, 11:18am

You made me, yet you disclaim me: relative sown in the blood shed the massacre made to relish over new religion the known god -- an unknown doctrine placed in the hands of egoists, exploring the new world in search of gold riches. fame fortune glory. The Spanish ego; but you made me -- blood of red tierra the Navajo, the one people of the sun. Fortune? Glory? You are part of a bigger being -- Mother Earth, Madre Santa, la tierra del soul. my earth. Don't seek gold when the hands you crawl on are filled with emptiness and lies fortunes left to drought alongside the thousands of dying soldiers this side and the next. Forever young, I'd mourn my blood wonder why I could never be pure enough... Mestiza -- you Mexican? You White? You American? You Black? You Indian? You Pocha? You Primitive? You Chicana? You Spanish? You Latina? Hispanic? Have culture? What are you? How about if we gut you and mix the pieces around until it makes sense to us? Tell ...