Born of Lake Texcoco’s Womb

I was born of red sierra clay.
Of chilis and hibiscus flowers,
dried and pressed to extract savory juice.

I was born of Lake Texcoco’s womb,
poured out like blood, wearing the same
scarlet vestments as the setting sun, the harvest moon.

Born of heritage maize kernels,
radiant like Mars, full of potential stalks reaching towards
white clouds, blue skies: my body a five-petaled flor,
holding circular portals to ancestral wisdom.

Born proud—chest puffed out, yollotl leading the way:
my inner hummingbird sipping immortal nectar.

I come from flying arrowheads
made of red tecpatl stones, slicing into ignorance
like cacti roots into desert soils.

Born of the red threads of curanderas,
Mami’s pomegranate rebozo,
of the crimson agave roots that shoot into the Earth
like snakes weaving pathways into ancestral treasures.

Born of red pozole, ceremonial fires,
the red tail feathers of hawks circling over canyons at dusk.

Born of Lake Texcoco’s Womb

I was born red, like Mother’s cheeks
when Dad first winked at her.
Red like juicy lips, sweet prickly pears.
Born red like creation, primordial soup.
Red, like love.
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Lake Texcoco: The site of the ancient city of Tenochtitlan, now Mexico City’s center.
Flor: Flower in Spanish
Yollotl: The word for “heart” in the Nahuatl language.
Curanderas: Female pre-Colombian ritual healers
Rebozo: Mexican shawl
Pozole: Mexican stew traditionally made with red corn kernels