All posts filed under: Current Issue

Promesa de Madre

Cuando yo tenga hijos, Yo no les voy a pegar ¿Como podría levantarle a mano A un ser que se parece a mi? Cuando yo tenga hijos, Yo no les voy a insultar con palabras filosas Porque el amor verdadero No debe herir ni doler. Porque la relación entre padre e hijo No se debe basar en el odio Ni el miedo. Image by Obed Esquivel Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers signed up to contribute $1 per month, Raising Mothers could be self-sustaining!

Self-Portrait Wearing My Grandmother’s Vulture Wings

Wings wait folded neatly in dressers,  hang off nails on walls,      like carrion.  On wash day, I stretch their full wingspan,  their weight brings in the saguaros to each side.   On market day, vulture wings clasp onto  my shoulders, nest over soft, dark hair.  One end, prickly like pears,  reaches across my neck, grips onto my nape,  as fingers run over okra, scallions, asparagus stalks  wound tight. Before labor, a midwife  wraps vulture wings around my lower waist   coerces      my child out of its dark vessel,  cocoons her filmy skin.  Days later, my bundled child hangs,  a growth on my back,  as I feed honey-mesquite limbs to a fire.  As she grows, vulture wings will hang off her frame  —intricate silvery-dark plumage,  tiered chestnut patterns— Beautiful, my wings   she will say to daughters years later. Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers signed up to contribute $1 per month, Raising …

Time to Depart

Time to depart. Goodbye. Umbrellas of yellow facts Made in China. I leave with boxes, cash squirreled in a wallet, an adventure or three. People fight for a tomorrow I read about an ocean away. In Greater China, my single lid eyes, fair skin, black hair pass Go, collect $200. English, the catch and release. An American, neither Quiet nor Young. Western, not blonde. Asian/American. The Great Wall enslaves. A script gouges poverty. Sons as legends? Unbroken history? I’m a woman, a heretic, sharing a peach of sugar and stars. I am your stranger. My home burns and weeps. Hands up. Hands up. The guns! The guns! Children shot. Black lives built the dreams, yet nightmares haunt those who yearn to love. My land is smallpox blankets, whippings, ghettoed men who laundered without love. Ancestors dying for pineapples and cane. Bloodied hands and scarred backs. Lynching, an innocent’s reward. Women scrawl for cents, rainbows fear storms, children flee through deserts under starry nights. My body yearns for flight. Umbrellas Open. Hands Up. Across oceans under …

TRANSformative Haikus

‘Cuz when doctors get it wrong You don’t get the chance To change the gender reveal. Introducing You Was the best lesson for me To stop my bullshit. Your father left us ‘Cuz sex trumped identity This life ain’t for All. I’d kept your secret But in secret I held shame No more silencing. Ev’ryone has both In the beginning of life So why you trippin’? I’m strictly dickly But I check out boobz and azz It’s about the art. Labels and jargon Ev’ry day changes to suit How we can fit in. ‘Cuz how you do it Don’t really matter to me ‘Cuz I’m kinky, too. I mourned losing her Obsessed failing yesterday When you were right there. No one prepares you For the hate you will receive In the name of God. Call me what you will If it makes you feel better I’m that relevant. Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers …