The Rio Grande

By Lizeth De La Luz

Under water you are still an iridescent trace of  corners pealed 

sunbeam and sunset  stay with us  soul and dust 

 whisper of flame in hand you bloom  (________) 

in no ripple drifting by  in your mother’s eye silence of voice 

in gasp  in want  in need  in exhaustion        in agitation 

in dissociated memory  recalling a phone call singing 

amidst the clings of music  and the counts of laughter 

body breathless  steps making way through the 

waters of sound  to reach your mother 

to find her awaken  by gritting teeth  a fragrant of silence 

in a body so still,  it grew out of her and stirred 

the beats  and swings  and taps to be a tongue so restless 

to be ash  and to be lost  in morning in miles  of you 

she was held tightly  violet and Sunday  seeking the divine 

in a room of sun and soil  an untaught silence

we know 

of someone’s child  family  and blood 

of a smile  we’d believed to see  again one day 

through rivers  or mountains  to not forget 

unforgiving country   we remain in place  listen to her

scream 

molten and awake 

---

LIZETH DE LA LUZ is a Mexican American poet from California. She writes about the frustrations of language barriers, learned barriers, and the anxieties of living/loving/grieving in a Mexican body in the United States. Her work has been published in City Works, Short Vine, and Latino Literatures.

This poem originally appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 21. 

Photo by Cristian Palmer