Xochiquetzal
By Erika L. Sánchez
Xochiquetzal
My fury was born
in the forest.
I refuse to explain.
I draw a machete
to a cloud
and say,
chíngate pues.
What do I want
besides everything?
What is there besides this
endless heap of rags
to scrub against
the river-rocks?
—Time hangs from the wrists—
In exchange for rain, the blood.
Puro cuento; nothing but gods
winded by their own pomp.
The poison is feathered
and placed gently
in my throat.
In the distance, an eagle
holds a bloody woman
in its beak.
I scrape nopales all day
to feed an insatiable hunger.
What else is there to nourish me?
To nourish us?
The poor and disposable.
Cuando tu patria es tu partida.
Pues, tu sabes.
What they don’t know
is everything.
I move with the stealth
of the mushroom.
I am not the first and
I will not be the last.
My pain is creased.
Cracked knee. Cracked neck. Cracked back.
The mountain becomes
the story—
See, the urge to astound is as ancient
as glass.
As ancient as the fire
I was told to swallow.
Look at me. Me mortifico.
There has never been
a beginning,
a place to point to and say,
there.
There it is.
Past, present, and future are three sisters
Running hand in hand
through a valley.
They are laughing.
Erika L. Sánchez
Commissioned by the Goodman Theatre, in collaboration with
The Poetry Foundation, in relation to their production of LUCHA TEOTL, for their 23/24 season
October 2023