No Credentials

No Credentials

Written by Diane Benavides Rios

I walked across the border
drunk with hollow dreams.
Mezcal,

rage,

the moon,

and lowriders all became mirages here.


Here-mujeres y hombres
dance among crumbling walls.


There- are candles,
little children crying,
link fences. 


There is a butterfly close to death.


And still I ran,
hurried through
fields of horses,
rows of cotton,
streets of dust.
Payphones rang on the corners of the cement.

Then my feet stopped.
My hands laid on the sides of my thighs. 


I stood there.
Looked up to the sun and mourned my breath.

This entry was posted in Aztlan, Chicana Feminism, Chicana/o, Chicana/o Activism, Chicana/o Art, Chicana/o Community, Chicana/o Healing, Chicana/o History, Chicana/o Identity, Chicana/o Studies, Chicana/o Underground, Chicana/o Youth, Cultura, Decolonization, Family, History, Indigenous, Knowledge, Language, Memory, Movimiento, MuXer, Resistance, San Antonio, Student Empowerment, Unity, Xicana, Xicano. Bookmark the permalink.

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