“Inmigrante” & “Problemas de lenguaje”por Adriana Gordillo Inmigrante Este vacío en el pecho No sabe a quién llenar. Crece poquito a poco, se va hinchando hasta dar fruto a un llanto suave ahogado con gemiditos grises y pálpitos acompasados que se ocultan en cada esquina de este hogar lejos del hogar al otro lado del mar Problemas de lenguaje Un muro de silencio se erige entre nosotros cada vez que tu miedo y mi temor se encuentran. Dicen por ahí que es un problema de lenguaje. Que tu inglés y mi español no se entienden. Que tu mundo y el mío se desconocen. No les creas. Nuestro problema es la certeza de nuestros mundos Y tu solución es ignorarnos ![]() Adriana Gordillo es colombiana de nacimiento y vive actualmente en Saint Paul, Minnesota. Trabaja como profesora de español, literatura y cultura latinoamericana en Minnesota State University, Mankato. Ha publicado poemas en las revistas Alborismos y Letras Femeninas. Ha recibido premios de poesía como el premio Victoria Urbano (2011) otorgado por la Asociación Internacional de Literatura y Cultura Femenina Hispánica (AILCFH) y Voces nuevas de la Editorial Torremozas en 2014. Adriana es también una entusiasta de las artes visuales y algunas de sus fotografías han sido exhibidas en eventos artísticos en Minnesota.
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GEORGE YEPESLa Uvalde DolorosaVirgen de Guadalupe AltarTikkun Olam: To Repair the World
La Dolorosa/Virgen de Guadalupe altar in honor of the 21 victims of the Uvalde, Texas, elementary school shooting. La Uvalde Dolorosa bears the pain of 21 bleeding wounds for the 21 victims: Her Sacred Heart skewered with 7 daggers and 14 large swords piercing her chest and abdomen. The Uvalde pieta banner is draped across her lap. La Dolorosa/Virgen de Guadalupe wears the crown of thorns from the crucifixion. Behind La Dolorosa is her flaming aura of La Virgen de Guadalupe. La Dolorosa's green cloak of La Virgen de Guadalupe has turned to ultramarine blue with white stars. Her white gown is marked by the bleeding flow from her Sacred Heart and abdomen to form the red and white stripes of the United States flag. Above and behind La Dolorosa is the cross of the crucifixion carved into the Uvalde oak tree from the City Seal of Uvalde, Texas. The 21 Doves above La Dolorosa/Virgen de Guadalupe are the ascending souls of the Uvalde victims. With the permission of the artist ![]() George Yepes, born in a cross-fire hurricane beneath a meteor shower over Baja, then raised and educated in the crucibles of East Los Angeles, the meteoric double-barrel life of Painter/Muralist, continues to burn beyond the Los Angeles art world. Formed by a hard street life of poverty, and gang violence; this painter not only survived the gang violence of East L.A.’s toughest neighborhoods but he has also risen above and beyond the Chicano genre. Yepes' oeuvre incorporates art and architecture, ethereally beautiful women, world history, religion and literature presented in powerfully charged atmospheres. Self-taught, with a refined renaissance bent; from religious iconography to erotica, George Yepes brings a confidence and knowledge of his craft that calls to mind the great Velasquez and Titian, and the great Mexican Muralists. Imbued with a contemporary street sense, his paintings and murals combine the best of both worlds where bravado meets classical standards. More on the artist at: http://www.georgeyepes.com/ “The Battle”by Kristy Ward I lay here in my pitch-black room with my eyes open wide. Tears dripping down my face as I wipe them aside. The sound of my dangling bracelet as I wipe away the tears. I've cried in silence like this for so many years. The sound of his snores as he fell fast asleep. No worries for him as I lay beside him and weep. I stare into the darkness with my mind in deep, deep thought. The demons returning, even the old ones that I fought. I fought those demons and won, or at least I thought I did. The boiling war in my brain and they removed the lid. That stench of darkness that never left, it was hiding deep inside. I tucked them away to forget, or at least I tried. A woman in my 40s yet I'm still that little girl, dancing in my homemade dress and gave a little twirl. Dancing took my mind off things and writing helps release. And just for those short moments, I brought myself some peace. As I lie here in this pitch-black room, I see a tiny light. The smoke detector floating from the ceiling, and then I get that feeling. That little light is my hope, amidst the battle in my head, the light gets a little brighter. One day at a time she said. ![]() Kristy (Molina) Ward is 42, is of Mexican American descent and was born and raised in Corpus Christi, TX. She graduated from Moody High School in 1998 where she played multiple sports, but Cheerleading was her favorite. She achieved her Associates degree from San Antonio College in 2016 after being a stay-at-home mother for some years. Kristy is a licensed insurance agent that now resides in San Antonio, Texas, loves to TikTok, and represents her culture in many ways. She has two kids who are currently in college. Alyssa is studying to be a Physical Therapist Assistant and Aaron is going into Business. Kristy's husband Ricky is also a college student studying to be in Sports Management. When she is not working Kristy loves to dance, discover new restaurants, hit the trails and spend quality time with her family. Kristy has never been published and has been writing her poetry since her teen years. Excerpts "Heartburn", "Foriegn", "Time Machine" from Touristby TAK Erzinger Heartburn Yesterday I discovered what anaemia is: quiet snowflakes turned the sky pale, the grass capped in frost or is it called escaracha? I whisper the word and try to hold on to it, the way my tongue pushes against my teeth. The day my mother departed, cold moved in and innocence was frozen, along with my meaning of all those words: mami, madré. hija, niña tongue-tied something got lost in translation. They’ve given me iron to strengthen me, if only it could forge us back together. I try to eat my way back to you, so much flesh and blood. I try to recover every dish you made me but I’m still hungry, surrounded by empty plates and the aroma of what was served. Waves of indigestion chase me out of a dream. Foreign They’ve sampled my tradition in a spoonful, too curious to refuse. I’m a buffet laid out, my language colourful, a sea teeming with strange delights, that laps at their ears the edge of their understanding. It could be smooth sailing, I’ve heard, but I feel a storm in the air caught between hot and cold, clouded partitions create boundaries between concrete and abstract why must there be one or the other? I’ve always been good at balancing the two from my head to my heart. They say they care but I can’t read their lips. I beg at their table like wasps or flies trying to snatch back pieces they’ve appropriated, I end up starved. Time Machine Spying an aeroplane smooth and silver far above land, between space and rock, living two lives: above sea-level, afraid of heights saddled by a dialect, my tongue blooms with foreign wounds, I long to return to the shallows of the sea – floating – or taste the crust of an arepa, salted like your skin. Touch down on a landing strip and stake claim to abandoned places with starfruit trees shining ripe, straining to be plucked. Let’s return: we’ll tread the wide, once teeming asphalt, still hot from the sun. Jet-lagged, no one will notice how much we’ve changed. TAK Erzinger copyright 2023 from the collection Tourist (Sea Crow Press, Massachusetts) ![]() TAK Erzinger is an award-winning poet. Her collection At the Foot of the Mountain (Floricanto Press California, 2021) won the University of Indianapolis Etching Press, Whirling Prize 2021 for best nature poetry book. It was also a finalist at The International Book Awards 2022, Willow Run Book Awards and Eyelands Book Awards. Erzinger’s forthcoming poetry collection Tourist (Sea Crow Press, Massachusetts) is due out in April 2023. Erzinger is an American/Swiss poet and artist with a Colombian background. She lives in a tiny hamlet in Switzerland with her husband and two cats. “The Jolly Chicano Poet |
Amanda Rosas is a mother, teacher and poet from San Antonio, TX. She draws strength and creativity from her Tex Mex roots, and from her husband and three daughters. Her work has been published by The Latino Book Review, The Front Porch Review and Sweet Tree Review, among others. She dreams of becoming a fulltime writer and storyteller.
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