Claudia Rodriguez

no el día sino la tarea que me había asignado. Pero en fin, celebré en la luna llena, digo en su llenes, no estoy segura que use la palabra correcta pero en fin siento que captura perfectamente lo que he vivido. Llena, como si estuviera empanzada, bloated se dice cuando we retain water- cuando la sal corre como olas por nuestras venas...el agua se veía como sangre, sangre cuajada bien enlunada- digo iluminada A prayer to Yemaya Yemaya… Oh madre poderosa I surrender! It is in you that I place my hurt, anger, and fears which have burdened my mind and weakened my spirit. I toss my problems, insecurities, and distrust like rose petals into you waters and watch them dance indefinitely on your crests and troughs. Take them away from me do as you please with them- stuff them 1,000 leagues into your core or let them drift and get tangled in your jade and golden colored chains of seaweed. Because I surrender. I submerge my hopes and expectation

A tree marked with a giant 7 and a giant 0 The 70’s came through here. A stop sign tagged with T-Flats no longer stops traffic but serves to warn you intruder that you’re entering Tortilla Flat territory. Better yield. I lived in the middle of gangs sandwiched between deadly loyalties to the red, blue, the brown. My childhood riddled with gang-boys who think, believe they are men but each one really a man-child. Sagging pants weighed down by the gats they tote. Glock, revolver in one pocket bandana representing in the other. Sporting perfectly pressed blinding bright white t’s cut-off dark work pants with creases cutting the air, hair shiny, sleek classic like the filero, thick white sport socks pulled knee-high and dark knit gloves in the summer! I knew some of them talked and laughed with them I wasn’t allowed to befriend them not allowed to cross their path to nowhere good. Willie, aka Will or Big Slim with his pet iguana and his magne

Ama.. Hearing your steps cross our shoe-box apartment slow moving dragging like a champ knocked to the canvas as the city enjoyed its second dream made my little heart a little sad. You’d come home your body beat-up by fatigue from back-to-back eight-hour rounds at the factories piecing together anything your nimble hands qualified you to. No belt, no fame, no glory barely a living for your accomplishments for ever unnoticed blended with the exploitations of others. Just a tired body always tired body you plopped onto the sagging mattress. I’d lay there feigning sleep didn’t want you to notice me didn’t want you to exert more energy to give me a tight squeeze. I’d watch through squinted eyes you pulled out your bag of healing from under our bed medicines from across the border brought back by neighbors, relatives who could cross the border. I’d hear the swishing of bottles You’d drench your arms and legs the sting of the green liquid- Rue inf

I sit here watching the news, sad news for all us gays. I speak for us all even though I know some of us gays out there don’t give two shits about marriage but the truth is that the repealing of Prop H8 is more than about granting the queers the right to marry it’s about standing up to being relegated to the status of second class citizens. So I sit here and shed a tear cause I’m a fucken, a fucked over queer. I went to a conference a few months back where I heard a prominent Chicana Lesbian author speak on the subject of gay marriage and she was not necessarily in favor of us being granted the right to partake of civil marriage (and gain from the numerous economic benefits that come with it) cause she said it made us to normative too domesticated. Also many Queers see marriage as one of the key pillars of heteronormativity, a major factor in the preservation of heterosexual culture. So gay marriage is not radical enough to change the moral sexual compass of our society? Just listen

Para Joe J.  If I ever have a boyfriend Quiero que sea como tu Pelon, chaparrito and if it's not asking too much Que tambien sea Tejano So he can have his corazon mas rasquachi que black velvet Un hombre con la suerte de una mujer sufrida Que se hace garras por un poquito de romance. Un pelon bien acholado Whose inner chola goes wild Al oir el 'Bidi-bid-Bom-Bom"