Guest Reviewer Diosa Xochiquetzalcóatl: Once Upon A Time in Occupied Aztlán

Once Upon a Time in Occupied Aztlán

A Book Review by Diosa Xochiquetzalcóatl

In this epic hero’s journey, Once Upon a Time in Occupied Aztlán, the narrator appears to be one of the older male sons in this familial story. Beginning with chapter ce, uno, one, the narrator chronicles his parents' migration to the “migrant border crossing/that crossed us… en el otro lado.”

From working hard to make ends meet to acclimating to a new kind of life, the narrator
soon invites us to his sister’s quinceañera, donde hay “puro pari” until the night ends
with him being taken away to “la pinta.” And while “the prodigal son” is facing his dark
soul of the night in prison, his younger siblings are discovering who they are at their
institution of higher education. 

In the final chapter, chicome, siete, seven, all of the family’s heroes and heroines make their return on the most iconic and symbolic of days—Dia de los Muertos, a night when the ancestors return as well.

At the very beginning of each chapter, elindiocopyright1985 poses a very simple, yet poignant question, “what they know about us?” This is a question that, in the current political climate, still elicits the same old hauntingly historical response, which is exactly why Once Upon a Time in Occupied
Aztlán comes to us at the perfect time. 

Once Upon a Time in Occupied Aztlán grants new generations the opportunity to see Raza not just through this particular family’s lens; the author takes us on a trip through the conundrum of the Chicana/Chicano experience just a few years after the Chicano Movement in the 1970’s.

The inclusion of specific songs will take you back to a time when Latin Freestyle and Quebraditas were all the rage. Yet even amidst this era, oldies and cumbias have always been a time-honored tradition in our culture. In chapter nawi, kuatro, four—the quinceañera scene, elindiocopyright1985 does a spectacular job of mixing and scratching these musical pieces together like a literary DJ, making you want to dance in your seat.

Besides the musical enthrallments and what seems like the never-ending house
parties from back in the day, elindiocopyright1985’s inclusion of significant historical
tidbits in chapter chicuace, seis, six, are pivotal in understanding how and when many
of us Chicanas and Chicanos actually learned our real history through MEChA,
Chicano/a, and Native American studies at colleges and universities. In chapter chicuace, seis, six, he encourages our younger generations to pursue higher education while reminding us all

of the importance of ethnic studies for “without the brightness of/wisdom/we all fall to the
dimming fate of/ignorance.”

In chapter macuilli, sinko, five, elindiocopyright1985’s use of repetition draws a
dagger through the heart as the narrator recalls the travesty of being locked up in “the
prison industrial ungodly complex.” As he makes a collect call home, he flashes back,
remembering all of the gruesome physical, mental, and emotional details of prison as
the phone operator continuously interrupts with, “this call and your telephone number
will be monitored and recorded.”

There is a distinct characteristic worth noting and clarifying in this book: the
author’s use of unconventional vernacular and spelling. This is all done purposefully!

elindiocopyright1985 does an exceptional job of demonstrating cultural resilience and
resistance through his use of a combined Chicana/o Caló, a unique form of
communication that combines English, Spanish, and Nahuatl, with a mix of
post-Chicano/a Movement bilingual vernacular. 

Yet the detail isn’t found in the simple use of this combined style of communication (which is not so simple in any way), but in its contemporary, non-traditional, phonetic spelling. Be forewarned, you may need the help of a dictionary or, better yet, an elder.

So, “what they know about us?” is a question I don’t think anyone can ever truly
answer, as Raza is forever evolving and morphing while still managing to preserve and
persevere—forever resistant, forever resilient! And Once Upon a Time in Occupied
Aztlán encapsulates this ebb and flow perfectly.

Once Upon a Time in Occupied Aztlán is elindiocopyright1985’s debut book. This
book was published on April 1, 2026, by the newly established Maiz Poppin’ Press (link).

Diosa Xochiquetzacóatl is a multilingual and multidimensional poetiza with a Bachelor’s in English and a Master's in Cross-Cultural Teaching. She has spent a lifetime as an educator working with English Learners and immigrants from all walks of life. Diosa X not only defends women’s rights, but all human beings, particularly those historically excluded, and places a strong emphasis on people’s linguistic rights. She currently works as an ESL teacher, serves as a board member for Circulo de poetas and Writers, forms part of Inlandia’s Cultura Without Borders committee, teaches as a CalPoet for California Poets in Schools, and is a member of Women Who Submit and the International Poetry Troupe, Tesoro. This slam winner and Pushcart nominee is the author of seven full-length poetry collections and one chapbook, with several more books on the horizon. Feel free to visit www.diosax.net to learn more.

SPARC Poetry Reading Fotos, Ése: Features and Open Mic 

Nearly every month--holidays excluded--Aaron Hernandez and the South Pasadena Arts Council holds a poetry reading in the city's dedicated arts building, The SPARC Centre Gallery located at 1000 Fremont Avenue, South Pasadena, CA 91030. Ample parking behind the building, free.

May 2026 sees a pair of distinctive voices, Beth Paulson and Sean Hill. Joining Beth and Sean are a number of poets sharing during Open Mic. The day's readers share a rich variety of work, from Paulson's lyrical lines to Hill's hip-hop beats, and open mic'rs belly-crunching humor, mystical chants, and topical verse.

Aaron Hernandez organizes SPARC readings

Beverly Higgenson

 

Alicia Viguer-Espert

Beth Paulson - Co-Featured Poet

Sean Hill - Co-Featured Poet

Poets Enjoying Colleagues' Work
Marilyn Fuss, Dean Okamura, Beverly Higgingson,
Alicia Viguer-Espert, MaryAnne Berry
Aaron Hernandez standing

Mani Suri

Mike Sonifer

Marilyn Fuss

Jennifer Darland

Seven Dhar 

Jessie Mills (Maverick)

Chris Cressey

Dean Okamura

Cody Collab

La casa de los pájaros, House of Birds, La casa degli uccelli by Xánath Caraza

La casa de los pájaros, House of Birds, La casa degli uccelli by Xánath Caraza

 

Xanath Caraza

 La casa de los pájaros

 

Aleteos ligeros de aves de marfil

Árboles amarillos en el centro

Lluvia musical los agita

Aves de coral, de lapislázuli y jade

 

Aves ciegas de aletear incesante

De plumaje de palabras

De plumaje de humo

Aves de andar vacilante

Aves en el texto silencioso

 

Con frondas colmadas de viento

Esa casa me recibe

Música escurriendo de las hojas

Aves de alas extendidas

Con el alma transparente

 

          (Ciudad de Oaxaca, México, enero de 2013)

 

Xanath Caraza

House of Birds

 

Fleeting fluttering of ivory birds

Yellow leaves in the center

Rhythmic rain rocks them

Birds of coral, lapis lazuli and jade

 

Blind birds of incessant flapping

Of feathers of phrases

Of feathers of fire

Birds of faltering steps

Birds in the silent script

 

With wind-filled foliage

The house receives me

Rhythm dripping from the leaves

Birds with wide-spread wings

With transparent souls

 

(Oaxaca City, Mexico, January 2013)

 

Xanath Caraza

La casa degli uccelli

         

Lieve svolazzare di uccelli d’avorio

Alberi gialli al centro

Pioggia musicale li muove

Uccelli di corallo, di lapislazzuli e giada

 

Ciechi uccelli per l’incessante svolazzare

di piumaggio di parole

di piumaggio di fumo

Uccelli dal volo vacillante

Uccelli nel testo silenzioso

 

Con fronde colme di vento

Questa casa mi riceve

Musica che gocciola dalle foglie

Uccelli dalle ali spiegate

Con l’anima trasparente

 

          (Città Oaxaca, Messico, gennaio 2013)

 

Xanath Caraza

El poema original en español, “La casa de los pájaros” de Xánath Caraza, es parte de Sílabas de viento / Syllables of Wind (Mammoth Publications, 2014). Traducción al inglés de Sandra Kingery.

 

Xanath Caraza

En 2015 recibió el primer lugar en Poesía / Poetry para los International Book Awards for Poetry. También en 2015 recibió Honorable mention “Best Poetry Book in Spanish” para los International Latino Book Awards.

 

Xanath Caraza

La traducción al italiano, “La casa degli uccelli”, es de Zingonia Zingone y Annelisa Addolorato y es parte de Le sillabe del vento (Gilgamesh Edizioni,  2017).

 

Xanath Caraza

The War on Drugs Is Like Kids in a Candy Store

 

                                                                                    

                                                                                    

All kids love candy, even fight to eat it

     The United States war on drugs is like trying to close a candy store in a town where, as far as you can see, there are kids with sweet tooths (or sweet-teeth) and money to spend.

     It starts out slow, maybe a trickle of kids, then a steady flow, and before anyone knows it, there are lines of kids waiting outside the candy store. To keep up with the demand, the candy store owner has candy manufacturers sending in truckloads of candy. Kids from outside the area start coming in to buy candy, so the candy store owner opens another candy store, then another. When the trucks aren't enough, he hires pilots to fly in gobs of the sweet stuff, hard candy, soft candy, all sorts of candy, and not everyone is happy about it

     Parents start complaining about stains on the furniture and gooey fingerprints on the bedframes and walls. The there are the cavities and high dentist bills; though, the local dentists are delighted and so is the local bank holding all the profits coming in from the candy store, at a pretty good interest rate, even knowing it comes at the expense of kids' health. 

     The kids break out in pimples. Their teeth begin to show signs of rotting. Some teeth need to be pulled to prevent decay. The kids can’t stop eating sumptuous candy. One dentist says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just their baby teeth,” so they keep eating it, as do the older kids, and even a few adults, especially the sweeter, more expensive dark chocolate almond clusters. 

     Eating candy turns into an epidemic. The kids hide the candy in their desks at school and under their beds at home. They can’t stop eating the delicious treats. Bad skin and tooth decay spread. There is a run of bridges to hold together the molars. Diabetes increases, but nobody will listen to the doctors’ warnings about heart, kidney, and liver damage, neuropathy, gangrene, and premature loss of arms and legs.

     In a show of solidarity with the disgruntled parents, the mayor and town council decide to close the main candy store, the one that started it all, but it’s too late. The store has started to branch out, and many local businesses depend on its revenue. Financially, it's a windfall, but the mayor doesn't see it that way. He and those who oppose the sweet scourge, recognize it as a public nuisance. The town council drafts a bill to stop the madness. Kids leave wrappers all on the streets and sidewalks, gumming up the curbs and drains. The police start clamping down on kids who've put up tents outside the candy stores, wanting to be the first ones in each morning. The cops call in reinforcements. The kids come from everywhere.

     By this time, though, the candy store owner has opened so many stores in other towns and hired scores of employees, not even the mayor and council can keep up. “They (the kids) just keep coming,” says the store owner to a friend. To avoid paying taxes, the wily entrepreneur starts selling candy from, what people call, “Sweet Houses,” illegal locations where kids can go without even telling their parents. A few cents can get them a hit of a big lollipop. Chefs and housewives good at cooking begin googling “Candy Making,” and start bootlegging their own special brands of candy, even sweeter, and cheaper, than those in the stores. They hire kids hooked on candy to finds dark street corners when they can sell the stuff, heavily discounted.

     The candy store owner knows he’s lost control of the candy business, and “Sweet Houses” begin to pop up everywhere, in different neighborhoods, among wealthy and poor kids, and out in the countryside, as more and more kids gobble up the candy. The candy manufacturers, the store owner, the banks, and local businesses don’t complain, as business booms, pulling in kids hungry for candy from other towns and counties.   

     Everyone just ignores laws banning candy, but to show they're tough, the council passes more laws. In response, the manufacturers, candy store owners, and many businesses, fearing a loss of revenue, buy campaign adds accusing the politicians of all sorts of white-collar crimes, and the citizens vote in a new mayor and council, more accommodating to the candy business. Of course, all of this is done under the table, so nobody sees the money pass from hand to hand. 

     Sick of the entire scam, as well as the cavities and increase in diabetes, activist and parents speak out in the media. Angry with the coverage, hundreds of kids surround the offices and homes of those complaining and begin pelting them with eggs and toilet-papering their houses.

     The police step in and start chasing the kids away. To keep order, the cops decide to close a few candy stores, but no matter how many stores they close, more open. Then, the police realize they can never close them all, so they begin to work strategically, closing the smaller candy stores, at least to make it look like they’re attacking the problem, but, suspiciously, they allow the larger stores to continue selling candy to the kids. Some stores accuse other stores of stealing their customers. Fights break out. Stores form conglomerates and claim ownership over certain territories. Someone burns one store to the ground. The kids don't care, as long as they have a supply of candy. 

     Somehow, the kids get the money, not only to keep buying candy, but to buy endless supplies of eggs, toilet paper, and brown paper bags to harass anybody who is anti-candy. They begin assaulting the police officer’s homes, egging their cars, toilet-papering their yards and houses, lighting fire to poop-filled brown paper bags they leave on the porches. They, ring doorbells, at all hours, then run away, all after dark when no one can see and the cameras can’t catch them. It’s the police against mobs of angry kids, their “sweet teeth” out of control, and even the parents realize they’ve lost their own kids. It’s a candy bonanza, and the need for candy spreads far and wide.

     Parents and concerned citizens are calling the governor’s office to complain. To make a long story short, the governor calls meetings, does studies, and decides to pour money into the coffers of the local governments and police precincts to fight the candy curse. Suddenly, a new, state-of-the-art police headquarters pops up over the old one, a new fleet of police cars in the parking lot, military-like uniforms and equipment. The chief and his officers receive a hefty pay raise, not counting the thick envelopes left in their mailboxes after dark, but the candy keeps flowing.

     One cop makes a suggestion to the chief telling him that since the kids are making the demands, the police should make friends with the more outrageous youngsters, the leaders, to get them, if nothing else, to stop all the chaos, the toilet-papering, dog-poop bags on porches, and whatnot.

     So, they invite the kids to their own kids’ birthday parties, bar mitzvas, confirmations, and the like. They strike some kind of deal. The kids promise no chaos if the stores remain open. The police, clearly outmanned and outgunned, turn a blind eye but act like their fighting the candy wars. A few cops are seen driving around in new Subaru SUVs, and one in a BMW. The mayor builds himself a new house and sends his kids to elite private schools, where no one seems to mind that kids eat candy openly.

     For the officers who refuse to accept the envelopes, the harassment continues, even to the point of endangering their families. One flaming brown paper poop-filled bag ignites a plant near the porch, and if not for quick acting by the cop, might have lost his house. The officer can take it no longer. He tells his friends he’s going to “blow the whistle,” and “name names,” not unlike a New York cop named Frank Serpico, a few years back, who had to move to Denmark or Sweden, or one of those places, to escape threats on his life.

     That night the officer receives a visit from large group, kids of all sizes and ages, dressed in black, hoodies covering their eyes. Nobody knows what was said. It was clear, though, soon after, the officer and his family vacated their home and never returned, as the candy business thrives, as do all the businesses in town, the bowling alleys filled every weekend, and more and more kids, younger and younger, start in on the candy frenzy.

     The local towns receive new courthouses and municipal buildings, some get new aquatic centers and new Little League complexes, complete with fresh grass infields, announcers’ booths, and digital scoreboards. When it all reaches the state government, again, the governor sends in the state police, who swoop in and start attacking and closing illegal candy makers and stores, arresting the owners and filling the jails. Someone in the governor's office suggests sending in drones to blow up the candy trucks making round the clock deliveries, but someone else argues that might be unconstitutional, besides attracting too much publicity. 

     Finally, the governor sends in the lieutenant governor who arrives, backed by parents and a few cops, to question one influential candy store owner, the head of a candy conglomerate, with a threat to close him and his associates down, with violence if necessary. The owner responds, "All I can say is, you can close me down, close us all down, even lock us up, lock up our truck drivers and pilots, but as long as your kids keep consuming candy, whether I'm here or not, some else is going to supply them with candy, so," and here he took the lieutenant governor to one side, "either you play ball or it may be your house next,” and he handed the politician a manila envelope, even heavier than all the others. "This one's for you and the governor, and there's plenty more where that came from."

Lucía’s Goals / Los goles de Lucía

Written by Angela Quezada Padron

Illustrated by Christina Barragan Forshay

*Publisher: Lee & Low Books

*Language: English, Spanish

*Print length: 40 pages

*ISBN-10: 164379681X

*ISBN-13: 978-1643796819

*Reading age: 6 - 8 years

*Grade level: 1 - 3

In Lucía’s small hometown, girls weren’t supposed to play soccer and they definitely weren’t supposed to be good at it either. But Lucía was determined to prove everyone wrong!

Whenever Lucía played soccer, she imagined herself as a professional futbolista. She sprinted and dribbled, headed and juggled, zigged and zagged, kicked her best kicks, and scored “Goal!” after “Goal!” After finally getting the chance to join an all-female soccer team, Lucía set her sights on becoming the best goal scorer anyone had ever seen.

Told in English and Spanish, Lucía’s Goals / Los goles de Lucía is a rousing story about a young girl’s determination to defy gender stereotypes and break through barriers. Lucía’s story will inspire readers of all ages to take charge on and off the field to achieve their GOALS!

En el pequeño pueblo natal de Lucía, se suponía que las niñas no jugaban al fútbol, y mucho menos se suponía que fueran buenas en él. ¡Pero Lucía estaba decidida a demostrarles a todos que estaban equivocados!

Siempre que Lucía jugaba al fútbol, se imaginaba como una futbolista profesional. Corría y regateaba, daba cabezazos y hacía malabares, zigzagueaba de acá para allá, daba sus mejores patadas y marcaba gol tras gol! Después de finalmente tener la oportunidad de unirse a un equipo de fútbol exclusivamente femenino, Lucía se propuso convertirse en la mejor goleadora que nadie jamás hubiera visto.

Narrada en inglés y español, Lucía’s Goals / Los goles de Lucía es una historia conmovedora sobre la determinación de una joven para desafiar los estereotipos de género y romper barreras. ¡La historia de Lucía inspirará a lectores de todas las edades a tomar las riendas dentro y fuera del campo para alcanzar sus GOLES!

Review

"Part fairy tale, part social -commentary, this account empowers readers to pursue personal goals even with difficult setbacks.... A strong choice for collections in need of girl representation in sports books for children.” -School Library Journal

"Soccer fans will cheer Lucía's rise.... Game on for girls with big goals." -Kirkus Reviews

"An accessible introduction to larger conversations around fairness and equality in sports.” -Booklist

Angela Quezada Padron is a Latina author-illustrator who spent her childhood days writing stories and doodling on the garage walls of her New Jersey home and summers visiting family in the Dominican Republic. She first started playing soccer at the age of four and became an all-star goalie on recreational, school, and traveling teams. You can learn more about her at angelapadron.com.

Christina Barragan Forshay is a Mexican American illustrator known for her colorful images and joyous style. Born and raised in sunny California, she was inspired to become an illustrator by her many visits to Disneyland and by watching hours of cartoons as a child. When she's not drawing or painting in her studio, she can likely be found cheering on her kids at their many soccer matches. You can see more of her work at christinaforshay.com.

Yes, We Are

Yes, We Are. 

 

Review: Rey M. Rodríguez. Todos Somos Sagrados All Are Sacred. Translated by Javier H. Morrone and Rey M. Rodríguez. Preface written by Father Gregory Boyle. Los Angeles: El Martillo Press, 2026.

ISBN: 979-8-2957-9055-3

 

Michael Sedano

 

Rey M Rodriguez’ supplement to his MFA thesis (a novel), Todos Somos Sagrados All Are Sacred, arrives as the poet’s tribute, accolade, and IOU to women of  Dolores Catholic mission for showing him “the need for radical love, kindness, tenderness, forgiveness, and joy to mend a wounded world.” 

The collection endeavors to achieve those objectives through thoughtful meditation and poems. Together with the prefatory and afterword material, the collection is a sincere introduction to work by women over a 40-year history of doing Good by Proyecto Pastoral of Boyle Heights’ Dolores Mission. 

Dolores Mission, Rodriguez’ inspiration, hits people right between the brain and heart. In her preface, the Mission Directora writes of her first visit:

 

“¡Mi corazón y mi mente no

podían comprender lo que veían mis ojos! ¿Una iglesia que permitía

que hombres sin hogar dirigieran una misa para toda la comunidad?

Todos eran iguales, todos pertenecían. Supe en mi corazón que

necesitaba ser parte de esta comunidad sagrada.

 

“I remember

seeing mujeres, the giants of our community, talking and praying,

and the men of the Guadalupe Homeless Project leading the

evening service. I was impresionada. My heart and mind couldn’t

make sense of what my eyes were seeing! A church allowing

homeless men to lead a mass for the entire community? Everyone

was the same, everyone belonged. I knew in my heart that I needed

to be part of this sacred community.”

 

The book comes from a special place, geographically, in Los Angeles' Boyle Heights community, and spiritually, in the hand of the poet, and in the eyes and feelings of his readers, all of these and what readers bring to any poem.

 

When I approach a poetry collection my first readings are its poems. Skipping through prefatory matter, first I’ll riffle the pages stopping when a provocative title flits past, or read a poem at random. This practice introduces the DEI quotient of the writer’s breadth, and the book-at-a-glance riffle informs the poet’s sense of order and use of elements such as white space, indents, justification, concrete poetry. 

I read the final poem next on the basis this is the last thing the book wants me to think about and experience, it's the culmination of the journey. This last impression forms the basis of future engagements. I consider what I’ve exposed myself to and decide if this stuff is for me. Usually it is, so I go through prefaces then I read the pages cover to cover and arrive at that final poem. I may read it a second time, or just go through to find my favorites. 

I file away the good lines, the best poems, and decide I’ll read more by the author. Todos Somos Sagrados All Are Sacred offers compelling reason to read more of what Rey M Rodriguez thinks and sees in his world. 

The first at random piece to catch my eye is page 125/124 of this 166/167 page collection. Todos Somos Sagrados All Are Sacred presents facing-page translation. I read this poem first in English, on the right hand side. The left hand page shares a Spanish translation of “Nunca se trató de mí” “It Was Never About Me.”

An opening stanza has mystery, is he being fired off a job?

“Sitting at the back of the room

         waiting to see if I would be let go

Some wanted me to leave”

“Sentado al fondo de la sala

         esperando a ver si me despedían

Algunos querían que me fuera”

But he’s not worried about losing paid employment. His concern is joining a women’s group. The “it” is maybe fear this man is an infiltrator; maybe this man is here for other nefarious end; for sure he’s a he. Whatever this unspoken “it”, he’s a focus of some unseen adversary as the following stanza discloses:

“Estábamos ayudando a demasiados hombres sin hogar

         por eso la iglesia olía mal

Estábamos ayudando a demasiados pandilleros

         por eso algunos se sentían inseguros

Estábamos ayudando a demasiados inmigrantes

por eso nos llamaban la iglesia de los mojados

We were helping too many homeless men

         so the church smelled

We were helping too many gang members

         so some felt unsafe

We were helping too many immigrants

so they called us the church of wetbacks”

“Pero nunca se trató de mí”

“But, it was never about me”

They let him stay, at the end of the poem. And as “Nunca se trató de mí” “It Was Never About Me” ends, the facing page translation offers a richness not appreciated without reading both sides of the page:

“Nunca se trató de mí

entonces las madres me dejaron quedar.”

“It was never about me

so the women let me stay.”

Mothers, mujeres, women, madres. For the translator, the poet’s choice of “women” doesn’t carry the weight of whom the opening poem, indeed the entire collection, speaks. Yes, these are women. Nurturing, giving hope light and life in places where those are rarely felt. Madres do that.

This randomly chosen first impression satisfies some itches. First, the poem, entonces the collection, celebrates good people doing needful work, the poet seeks soulful connections with readers. Second, the words are constructive, pro- not anti-, reasoned not whiny. Third, the work reads fluidly on both sides of the double truck. Fourth, some of these topics are interesting on their own, e.g. Rodriguez' love poem, and for their context in the religio-political nexus, such as the title poem, inverted as a question, "¿Son todos sagrados?/Are All Sacred?" 

Now I read the book’s last poem, “Una comunidad con tanto que enseñar al

Mundo”. It’s an anthem of Peoplehood, gente declaring themselves human and equal.

 

“No matter what we do, that is what they think wrongly of us. 
We work, we strive, and we dream like any person.

We are not the monsters, criminals, and vermin that they say we

are.

We are proud, we work hard, we dream big. We will never give up.

 

“Realizing that we hate the word, “lazy.”

That’s all people call us.

No matter what we do, that is what they think wrongly of us.

We work, we strive, and we dream like any person.”

“Y hagamos lo que hagamos, eso es lo que piensan erróneamente de nosotros.

Trabajamos, nos esforzamos y soñamos como cualquier otra persona.

No somos los monstruos y parásitos que la gente dice que somos.

Somos soñadores orgullosos y trabajadores que nunca se rendirán, a

pesar del odio.

The stanza reaches for an ultimatum, a battle protreptic, an action step in standard persuasive argument, to an audience of supporters. What are we doing about this? The poem’s not about changing minds but finding a level perception ground, a laissez-faire actitud toward "they":

“Pero algún día tendrán que aprender que juntos somos el futuro, sin

otra opción que descubrir que nosotros mismos somos más que

suficientes.”

 

“But one day, they must learn that together, we are the future, with

no other option but to discover our whole selves is more than

enough.”

 

Todos Somos Sagrados All Are Sacred closes on this hopeful note. This is the author’s definition of sacred, Sagrado: enterados de nuestra igualidad; informed of our equality. A reader’s take-away will place this philosophy in context of a working mission in urban Los Angeles. Proyecto Pastoral at Dolores Mission. Not only did las madres allow him to stay, he sat the Board of Directors for thirty years, growing from an idealistic young man to an idealistic husband, father, and optimist who closes his poetry with a small essay of notes & acknowledgements:

“The people of Proyecto Pastoral have much to teach the

world about love. It is my intention by detailing some of the people

and stories that their work will be honored and their teaching will

be preserved so that we may all learn from their example.”

 

Todos Somos Sagrados All Are Sacred comes from California small press publisher, El Martillo Press. To purchase copies, order from your local indie bookseller, Libromobile (link), or visit the publisher’s website, elmartillopress.com . 

  

If we are all sacred

We choose peace over violence

Joy over envy

Reciprocity over selfishness

Kindness over cruelty

Solidarity over division

Humane acts versus inhumane ones

Harmony over chaos

Balance over imbalance

Love over hate

We need each other. Nothing separates us. We are

interconnected.

All are sacred.

(excerpt, ¿Son todos sagrados?/Are All Sacred? )

 

ArtSpeak & “Brota vida” por Xánath Caraza

ArtSpeak & “Brota vida” por Xánath Caraza

 

Xanath Caraza

El sábado 16 de mayo fui poeta invitada para el evento ArtSpeak. Hoy les comparto unas imágenes de éste junto con el poema “Brota vida / Emerge Life”. Espero que lo disfruten. ¡Qué la poesía nos salve!

 

Xanath Caraza

Brota vida

 

En las desnudas

puntas de los árboles

rojos arabescos renacen

la vida insiste en latir.

 

Árbol, satura

con las áureas

ramas la mirada.

Báñame de luz.

 

Vida desbordada

no te esfumes

muévete entre

las células de mi sangre.

 

Brota vida desde

la carmín memoria

dorada sombra

eras.

 

Xanath Caraza

Emerge Life

 

On naked

treetops

red arabesques are reborn

life insists on beating.

 

Tree, saturate

my gaze with

golden branches.

Bathe me in light.

 

Overflowing life

do not slip away

move within

the cells of my blood.

 

Emerge life from

carmine memory

golden shadow

you were.

 

“Brota vida/ Emerge Life” are part of the collection Sin preámbulos / Without Preamble (2017). Sin preámbulos was originally written in Spanish by Xánath Caraza and translated into the English by Sandra Kingery. In 2018 for the International Latino Book Awards Sin preámbulos / Without Preamble received First Place for “Best Book of Bilingual Poetry”. 

 

Xanath Caraza

In 2019 Sin preámbulos / Without Preamble / Fără preambul was translated into the Romanian by Tudor Serbănescu and Silvia Tugui.

 

Xanath Caraza