Text of the Artwork
Pisces Ponderings
One
Pisces can see her shadows without shame.
A guayaba tree grows inside.
My own Diosa shakes awake
barefoot, belly out.
Since I did not birth babies from this womb,
they shall be brought forth on pages,
in books, on airwaves.
Coyolxauhqui - my Cancer moon - creeps slow over the horizon.
¿Me vas a cumplir? she asked him as she got in the car.
Dipping down to the dark ravine
between her legs,
I don’t love you anymore.
Your breathing ripe within me,
rising in steam from my pile.
In my nightly wanderings,
I am the queen of abortions.
Two
i am of the earth and i am of the sky
Soy una mujer y voy a hacer que me da la gana.
My right hand is a slave to this writing life,
a bridge to the promised land.
The concept of home is turned on its head:
revised, rewritten, maybe left for dead.
A drum beats for those lost in ancient days.
A river of tears and rage surges
through my veins.
To – harder still – love the self.
To learn to sit quietly with our filth.
Yet, there is this lighter thing,
angelic and full of hope.
My heart comes to life, and your smile is a revival.
Get down to Tonantzin:
remember where you come from.
Only a mother could be so merciful
to knead away the ache
of a thousand heartbreaks,
and the living memory of an unexpected pregnancy.
A woman – a woman like me – has to peel away
at the layers of shame and resignation.
Three
A woman like her, without a lover, is starving.
Who will glut this wretched thirst?
Swipe right!
Palomo Negro, Palomo Negro,
My beloved black dove,
beautiful chocolate skin,
hair thick and lined.
You cannot cut or let out
or de-seam or re-sew a human.
But to be stitched together with kisses,
to feel safe enough to unravel?
Swipe left!
I was finally in touch with my anger,
tips of fingers on the pulse of rage.
I’m the one you fucked,
not the one you took out.
Showing off on your arm
was another woman’s business.
That Leo Rising to a boil,
rage yelling, fists flailing.
Sidechick? Me? Could never be.
You need to be safe.
I am safe harbor, an alternative way of life,
preferring to be alone than saddled to men
Who I mostly had to carry.
I walk down to the water’s edge,
the feel of water on my skin a holy thing.
I love you!
I sang with the coqui frogs.
You are enough, the Spirit whispers.
A collection of feathers mounted on my altar.
Four
Fat girl,
Poeta,
Goddess,
Indigena,
Diosa Coatlicue.
You gave me back my body.
There was a flash of green.
The root of my truth.
Deep inside a feral cat,
Leo rising made my oceans boil
in the deepest recesses
of this cavernous heart.
The dark shines bright too.
Spirit nudged.
There is no greater exile
than the self from the self.
With my third eye and crown,
to see the color of me:
thick thighs, brown eyes, no lies.
My Cancer moon stretches naked
Across the night of this sky.
These iris lungs began to bloom
From the roots to the veins.
A gossamer veil between us.
There is a natural trail of things.
A river flowing,
I step into that river.
I remember who I am.
The time for withering is over.
This is the birth of a sunflower.
This is the origin of the wind.
It will rise. It will regenerate. It will overcome.
Somos artesanas de las letras.
A bell rings, and there is an uncovering.
The veil is lifted.
The ocean waves swell
and I dive down below.
See how the hummingbirds in the deep
have transformed into seahorses?
Lightness and darkness are necessary
in tlilli, in tlapalli
El Espíritu de Xochiatl, Flower-water river
began to flow in me & replaced this colonized Christianity
The Creator has a way that infiltrates our veins
through our spiraling DNA.
Come to yourself. Stand in your power.
This sacral body can see in the dark.
Protección, bendición, petición.
When hurricanes come,
I am a rooted tree.
Beautiful as bougainvillea,
more potent than guayaba.
I have always been this poet.
I have always owned this song.
My sun is in Pisces,
lights up murky bottoms.
I know about those ocean floors.
Like Eliot says,
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas,
in quarantined and murmured reveries.
To calm the spirit in our grief
when the waves of loss threaten
to blow us away and we struggle to breathe,
whisper:
I am still here
I am still here
I am still here
I am still here
About the Artist
Brenda Vaca is a Xicana poet, author, and independent publisher from South Whittier CA. She earned her B.A. in English at U.C.Berkeley with a Minor in Creative Writing. Later she went on to graduate school in Berkeley earning a Master of Divinity and a Master of Arts in Biblical Languages from the Pacific School of Religion and Graduate Theological Union. She served as an ordained Elder for the United Methodist Church working primarily in “Latinx” communities for 10 years until an interfaith pilgrimage to Central America in August 2015 altered the course of her life. Poetry and writing have been lifelong passions. Her work has appeared in Los Angeles Poet Society Press, Sims Library of Poetry, enfleshed, and Praxinoscope. Riot of Roses is her debut collection of poetry. She is also the founder of Riot of Roses Publishing House.
Curator’s Note
This poem was originally performed live for Praxinoscope: Signs of the Zodiac at 1642 Bar, Historic Filipinotown, Los Angeles California on June 12, 2022.
PeformX Documents No. 2 containing printed documentation of texts drawn from this performance will be available for purchase September 2022.
Note: PerformX Documents are Free for Subscribers!
Production Notes
This podcast and performance series is hosted by Derek Denckla.
Sound was produced by John Dawson, Magnetic South Studios, ind him @magneticsouthrecordings and listen to his other projects at magneticsouth.bandcamp.com.
Our theme music “Alien Desert” was composed by Cato Gilmour @cato_gilmour.
Still images are the work of Derek Denckla, except where otherwise noted.
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