tú gringa, tu mija

reconciliation with the past, our truth

digital collage, family photo of me as a baby and mi mama among familial imagery (seashell, eagle feather, cactus bloom, ash)

Privileged with gifts and talent

Golden hair, they say this skin is “fair”

Tears swell and her heart bellows, my mama

She prays for a world, less cruel than it was to her


You saw my father in me, but dared to deny my masculinity

Bleach your roots, unrecognizable until you forget

About the cruel, sick, nature of the world

Mama, she prays for a girl less cruel than she was to herself


The "proper" girls laugh, and torture

But still I roared, determined no less to chase the void

In search of the things called love, tender moments and joy

Mama, I pray for a world less cruel than it was to you


I’ve seen the cruel, sick, nature of the world

Tell me how you did it, mama?

Madre, I look for you now

And I see you all around


She was never much of a god-fearing woman

But a good natured soul, in this cruel, sick world

In it she found love, beyond the void

Of this cruel, sick, world


Oh silly little girl

See your mother and how she suffers

They wonder if she was ever really your mother

Tú gringa, tu mija 


You must suffer

At the hands of your mother

To forgive her, for this cruel sick, world

But if she teaches you well, you’ll never be alone


In this loving, warm, place you call home