Stage 2B Invasive - A Good Sign

In a stale hall with unfinished walls,
my feet push my trembling hand
holding roses
like if it was my Mother's fingers,
five years old still
hanging on to a bad dream.

It was the drum in my chest
that pulled me into the room.
It was the rock I swallowed
that opened the curtain.

I found her tired face and swollen circles,
her mouth broadened big:
a smile brightened and beautiful.

As she reached my hand before
I could place my my gift in hers,
I reached her cheek,
and found a strong warmth
in her embrace.

She turned her neck from the
path of a bullet
aimed through her breast,
a tunnel down to mines
of weeds and poison.

Mija

I sank,
I couldn't
take the sword's strike
from the deep gasp
of her hand.

My sister wore that stab
like a black eyed
and broken-nosed dress.
Stunning,
giving me a mirror.

I stood with no clue
I stood blank
in front of the hard slip
of what I have always known
to be the strongest grace.

I come from a long line
of guerilleros
My Mother the bravest one
and for my Mother,
it was her Mother
and with
Grandmother stood my Grandfather
and with my Sisters, my Brother
with them, me.

all there along my Father's side.

Our blood in my veins,
helped my Mother up
and untied her gown
and guided her arm through
the strap of her bra

I saw my birth in her breasts:
my origin, my nourishment,
my comfort...myself.

Her body is my own.

This the beginning,
soon a space will remain
to give more land
for love to create
greater change
in my blood's time.