INCANTATION ON THE EVE OF 2017, a poem by Monica Rico, featured on Life As Activism • Cleaver Magazine
I turn bread into tortillas. I leave dried guajillo chiles in my wake. My hair is wild cilantro. My footprints are poinsettias. My tongue is an eagle whose wings will shout. The fringe of my rebozo is made of infinite braids. I dare you to touch. I am a field. My hands are dirt, my fingernails roots. Diego Rivera has painted them. My bones are made of corn and chiles. My stomach is arroz con frijoles. My lungs are comino y canela. My blood is lemon and salt.
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