I am at home in the furnishings
of my eyelash, river branch legs
and tecolote heart

Many think I sing death
but, this is living

And every fiber of my body is ringing
The dove is singing
From my window pane a common grackle taps
to their soft raps
as my grandmother
is telling me how to keep my marriage
happy and long
She embroiders this wonder
into my skin using the threads of my hair
in patterns I’ve traced over since I was six
The criss-cross stitch binding me to
My marriage, to my wife
My wife

I will wear this gift as a mantel,
not one to be spread on a table
flaccid and voiceless
like the countless points of care in
my ‘buelas house
But in me
Everywhere I walk I am loved
Mary Vidaurri is an emerging writer from the Rio Grande Valley. She is a queer xicana studying English at UTRGV. Influences include her latin@ roots, migrant experience, and border life. Her work is fringes on the surreal, both celebratory and painfully explorative. She believes writing is the one of the few places in life where you can go back and make changes for the better or worse; it’s like being a time traveler of sorts.
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