Everything I feel is kneaded together because these months I lock myself up,
Words do not hide the feelings of these moments,
From each drop of anxiety, my spirit frees me to know of another new day.
So that, because you wonder about this uncertainty of the future,
I know that every day more, even though I risk it,
I fill my cart with the foods of my customs.
Knead the corn, prepare the nopales, and brown the cut potatoes, they brown,
Lunch tells me that it is another day,
Coffee gives me the opportunity to be in this present.
Art, writing, literature dictates to me and takes me to faraway locations,
I cross literary borders, I am guided by the feelings of these subjects,
They carry the same feelings and I connect with them.
The screens, like windows to other worlds, lock me up, at 11:15 p.m.
Comments on the work, my due, my purpose as a teacher,
Time fades more than what is dictated, the suggested papers.
My complex as a teacher tells me that I am a clown,
The halls were resounding with voices singing, with instruments playing,
They evaporate, if I miss this territory, my stage.
The artist in me, my artistic shadow, takes shape,
Shape of words, of images, of stories, of unforgettable laughter,
It crawls and forces itself in my patio where I create my work of tongue and my song.
Biography:
Music Educator. Gay, LatinX, husband. Anzalduista. Ethnomusicology Graduate Student. Cat parent. South Texan. Brownsville resident.