I come from a spirit of fear, one that 

God once rebuked when we prayed,

Afraid of La Llorona, the woman who wandered the streets in search of 

Children, of the tart scent of tequila, of men I’d see in the dark. 

Of wasps, iron maidens, being executed, displaced spirits, 

And of being kicked out for good.

They say I was supposed to get us out of Texas, that there was a grandmother in my body.

They say I stole things from the ground and hid them in dressers, that I spoke Spanish in 

my sleep. 

I come from pulling teeth, from

The dirty feeling you get when you see someone undressed and look again. I never knew 

why I couldn’t wear that

Dress, or those socks. I come from knots, 

Tied with cherry stems, by bleeding tongues. There’s a room in Arlington where the ghosts 

of my father’s conquests seep into the walls.

My faith lives with them. No windows, only lamps.

They say they would give me jewelry each time we paid a visit, souvenirs. 

God may not have kept count,

But I did. I come from the bracelets of women I’ll never see again, 

From their sheets, their benighted daughters. 

I come from a street of pagans, of stray cats, of hookah parlors. 

I come from needles in the yard, from the bible bookmarked with a fortune slip. 

There was a corner my mother banished me to 

When the thunder rumbled inside our house, when it rained Clase Azul, and hailed dimes.

There was a corner, 

Washington Ave, Carlock St, where a panther leapt onto a roof, 2252. I come from its 

growl, from the breeze that rustled its whiskers, from the crunch of bottles I kicked while I 

waited, and 

Waited. I will wear that dress and those socks while I wait, shed those jewels that aren’t 

mine, I will take the treasures out, one by one, and return them to the earth. I will wander 

the streets as a child, look men in the eyes under the pallor of the moon. I come from 

contradictions, and thieves. 

I come not from a spirit of fear, but of 

Power, love, and of a sound mind.