By Genesis Barrera
El Colorado Rushing water roars and flows, restoring a stretch of river where there once had been miles of sand now churning whitewater cascades, restoring cottonwood, willow and mesquite to attract yellow warblers, blue-gray gnatcatchers, and vermilion flycatchers. An oasis in the middle of the desert where rain floods the valley with emerald water. Flocks of cormorants and egrets soar over fields of cotton, wheat, hay and vegetables hugging meandering stretches of dusty riverbed like green islands. Where once reservoirs dropped to record-lows, calm water reflects the sky like a mirror. Red-winged blackbirds and scarlet dragonflies live along the river’s mouth at the edge of the estuary, giving life to el Colorado so it can finally reach sea again.
Zoquitl Fragile zoquitl thinking in zoquitl. Tlaltzactic that grew our atl tlacualli. Xamixcalli calli we lived in. Zoquitlachihualli we ate out of; prayed with. Ancestral zoquitl, genetic memory. Speaking to zoquitl, an unusual intimacy – a frailty and vulnerability – threaded. Zoquitl survived extreme poverty on resourcefulness and relationship to tlalli. Zoquitl grew up encountering aesthetic traditions prizing acceptance of process over perfection of form, not distinguishing between art and craft. Zoquitl was dropped in a cemanahuatl incapable of cualnezcatlatoliztli. The seams, pinches, and fingerprints hollow zoquitl forms shape vessels for tonacayotl. Figures grown round carry babies on their shoulders. Tetalpan, zoquitl in their macpalli.
Remember the remedies Remember the tinctures and tonics salts, ointments and powders leaves, herbs and flowers mint in the mortar and pestle Remember the artifact of pain Remember even the minor pains The relief of an egg rubbed on your belly Your healer, the source of your illness Remember her amulets, icons and statues offerings and miracles The testimonial on a shiny plaque how she was crowned, bowed before the altar Remember the incantation before a cleanse "You can't heal if you don't believe, mija” Don’t forget the fright, the evil eye, and the golden race that is always alive through visions of the other side from the first frontier Nor should you forget the little house painted blue, the rosary and medallion Come, drink marjoram from tiny jars until drunk from your pain Remember the little angels, the angel woman bathing in a dirty water well Remember us well, in spite of not knowing us
Genesis Barrera is a Xicanx writer, multimedia artist, and librarian from Texas. She moved to Rhode Island to attend Brown University, graduating in 2021. Genesis is a founding member of What Cheer Writers Club, where she has received numerous honorariums for her bilingual (Spanish/English) and trilingual (Nahuatl/Spanish/English) poetry. She has been featured in Brown’s Latinx literary magazine Somos and Harvard’s Palabritas, as well as Rigorous Magazine and Copihue Poetry. In Spring 2022, she worked on short form historical fiction as a writer-in-residence at Linden Place, a historic mansion and museum in Bristol. She lives in Central Falls.