Se llamaba José: Poetry by Zelene Pineda Suchilt

BY ZELENE PINEDA SUCHILT
CURATED BY CECILIA LLOMPART

Se llamaba José

Se llamaba José,
nombre tan común
Mi padre se llama
igual

Se llamaba José
Hombre tan común
Como el padre de Jesús
igual

Digo su nombre en alto
escribo su nombre,
esperanza permanente,
porque fue un héroe.

Se llamaba José,
nombre tan común
Mi padre se llama
igual

Se llamaba José
Hombre tan común
Como el padre de Jesús
igual

Mientras escribo su nombre
cristiano en lengua española,

lo quiero Quetzalcóatl
lo quiero Oró pulido
lo quiero inmortal

por ser tan común
por ser padre
que vivió por los vivos

sus hijos
su amor
tan eterno

lo quiero Turquesa
lo quiero Jade
lo quiero en las calles

que lo vea José en la cantina
que lo vea José en la taquería

que lo vea el muralista
que conmemora a los muertos de lejos
y no va al entierro del común
porque lo común lo enterró.

que lo vea Jesús el mesero
que lo vea Jesús en la escuela

que lo vea María
que lo vea María magdalena

las que cuidan l@s hij@s

que lo vea la que pinta en casa
la que conmemora las vivas

las que recogen tras los vivos
las que se pintan de rojo
porque la sangre importa.

Más viva que muerta,
me llamo Zelene y recuerdo a José.

Fui a su sepulto,
vi la bandera de sangre serpiente y pasto,
tomé su mano fría y abrase su sangre caliente
corriente sin paro
rio de su amor, su amor viva.

Cuando salgo, salgo corriendo
nombra, nombres de hombres
que murieron en contra de la muerte
y vivieron por amor.

Se llamaba José,
un hombre no común,
un hombre en paz.

---

Zelene Pineda Suchilt is a CHí-CHí (CHilanga-CHicana) poet and storyteller living in The Bronx. Her work juxtaposes indigenous concepts and urban culture using a range of media, including poetry, painting, live performance and film making. Her literary work has been published on Huizache: The Magazine of Latino Literature, Free Press Houston, Quiet Lunch Magazine, The Panhandler Quarterly and MANGO Publications. In 2009, Zelene received the Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz Young Visionary Award from The National Museum of Mexican Art in Chicago.

Cecilia Llompart is the Spanish Poetry Editor for Luna Luna Magazine.

4 Poems by Jennifer Dane Clements

BY JENNIFER DANE CLEMENTS

the needle/work variations
drawn from the stitchings of Nelly Custis Lewis

Note: These are currently displayed as a part of an exhibition at the Woodlawn Mansion in Virginia (also known as the house George Washington gifted his granddaughter). The show runs through march 31. 

---

Hillary Waters Fayle

Hillary Waters Fayle

Hillary Waters Fayle

Hillary Waters Fayle

Hillary Waters Fayle

Hillary Waters FayleHillary Waters Fayle

Hillary Waters Fayle

Hillary Waters Fayle

Variation I

every stitch
counted

woven histories
like petticoat folds
beneath your muslin gown

we are meant
for making.

spill your words.
a sampler
a grammar

a craftsmanship of letters
cousin to
embroidery or filigree
or plainwork or painting.

is it a feminine trait
to absorb and reshape,
to ornament the world
not in beauty       but in meaning

and constraint

to dispatch parts of self
enveloped
to others

and like colonial children
three of every seven
               fail to thrive

we do this for those
that may endure.
 

Variation II

every stitch
shall be counted.

so obsess.

it is a woman’s work
arranging like daffodils or constellations
filaceous shade and shadow

what forms a thread but fiber and care
what forms a fiber but proof of life:
a cotton bud, a lamb’s mottled fleece
or wormspun silk
or you.

so embroider.

it is a woman’s work
to layer new life upon the old,
a woman’s body constructed
for its own remaking.

everything cloaks its meaning
in something else
(we call this beauty
or symbol
or preservation)

and what forms a word
but a thread spun of letters
what forms a letter
but proof of a hand

are these words threads
or are these threads words

pigmented
pin-pricked

I have remade
and sent myself to you.

look now, Elizabeth:
your fingertips
smeared thick with
ink and blood.
 

Variation III

every stitch
counted

thread-made things
in female-governed spaces:
harpsichord, piano
bracelets beaded in seed-small glass.

these hands
intractable makers
conductors of string.

look:

a firescreen.

its basket of flowers
tactile and scentless
save the memory of berries
bacciferous pigment dreams,
stitches the age of a nation.

it was blue once
the way a song tethers memory
the thread’s song is blue

yellows deepened to ochre
whites dusted to gray
still blue is most willing to fade

as though a lesson
on age, or sunlight

each thread traces a different path
counting only its own rows
they may take years to complete.

I have stitched without planning
it has landed me here
yet always there is a design.

thread will not ask its reason
its pattern

but like a good skeptic
I do.
 

Variation IV

every stitch
counted

we have worked by candlelight
for hours now
or do I mean days,
or do I mean decades

let us not suggest the process is delicate
a pierce repeated
through and through

tell me where creation occurs
without rupture
I dare you.

thimbles and revolution
obsessions of different scale

the fall and the falciform
the carmine of cochineal
your dye a siren acid.

let us not suppose women are delicate
a puncture repeated
through and through.

tell me where creation occurs
without rupture
even counted, even planned.

let us not suppose we do this
only to pass the hours

I am this thread
and tapestry needle

the wounded fabric

the loveliest
and most colorful
carnations and daffodils
tattooed on me
as on canvas.

---

Jennifer Dane Clements is a writer and editor based in Washington, DC. Her work has been featured in publications including Barrelhouse, Hippocampus, WordRiot, Psychopomp, and The Intentional. She holds an MFA in creative writing from George Mason University, and is currently working on a collection of creative nonfiction. Jennifer has received fellowships from the Fulbright Commission and the DC Commission on the Arts and Humanities, as well as nominations for the Pushcart Prize, the Larry Neal Writer's Award, and the Best of the Net Award, among other honors. She serves as a judge for the Helen Hayes Awards and volunteers as a teaching artist at the Sitar Arts Center.

2 Poems by Stephanie Kaylor

UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN RECOVERS STOLEN ASHES OF DARIEN EHORN, 23 YEAR OLD WOMAN WHO RODE IN THE PASSENGER SEAT OF AN SUV THAT CRASHED IN PARADISE, CALIFORNIA

Unidentified Woman is not the woman
of this story. Unidentified Woman
simply went to Paradise, brought
the dead back to life. Unidentified
Woman had a daughter, had done
this all before, had dreamt of
pomegranate trees, the cracked
fruits on the ground below giving
way to a thousand ruby-skinned
fragments left unscathed, had
dreamt of traveling the continent
and translating every echo from
here to there but she only made
it from paradise back to damned.

Unidentified Woman does not ask
why a man would steal a woman’s
ashes only to reject them, throwing
them out of his Chevy window on
Route 70, half an hour south of
Paradise, does not ask for are
reward, does not tell her daughter
it will be ok.

UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN ROBS 66 YEAR OLD MAN AT A BURGER KING IN THE BRONX

It’s knowing you’ll be asked
if you’d like anything else when
you need everything else
but only have a loose cigarette, a couple dollars
worth of quarters for the laundry
you’ll wash by hand instead because
even though it never turns out as soft
that way at first, a half an hour later
the day has already beaten out the
folds and warned them there’s no
coming back. Unidentified Woman
would have starched and ironed her
dress nonetheless but she knew their
documents would only say:
female, middle-aged, wearing a
black durag like an appendix.
telling you all you need to know in
the chapter that comes before.

It’s knowing you’ll be called
by an order number not a name, a
correspondence between value and
claim, its every letter a shareholder
negotiated through the tongues that
refuse to learn to speak you.
Unidentified Woman has already
told you how to pronounce her name.
Her old gold locket is gone
melted down at $135, 4 grams.
The faces of her parents, antiquated
and fading twenty years
were first scratched out with a hairpin.
In dreams she faces them shouting Mine.
How they shake with laughter,
silver fillings catching the sun.

---

Stephanie Kaylor is a writer from upstate New York. She holds a MA in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies from the University at Albany and is currently finishing a MA in Philosophy at the European Graduate School. Stephanie is Reviews Editor for Glass: A Journal of Poetry and her poetry has appeared in a number of journals including BlazeVOX, The Willow Review, and altpoetics.

Intersectional Feminism: 6 Things White Women Need to Remember

BY KYLI RODRIGUEZ-CAYRO

Dear White Women,

I’m writing to you because I know we can do better.

We, white women, have historically erased black women from the feminist narrative as long as feminism has existed. Many of our first-wave suffragettes such as Susan B. Anthony were blatant racists, and our second-wave heroes co-opted the civil rights movement to create the women’s liberation movement. That does not determine we must feel white guilt or dismiss the accomplishments of historical feminists - it just means our modern day movement has more opportunities to grow. 

No more excuses, no more convenient silence, no more exclusive feminism. We must definitively and directly stand with Women of Color.  

Here are 6 easy ways to practice intersectionality:

Quit It With The "Not All White Women" Nonsense

American white women failed this election; 53% of us voted for Donald Trump. I know, you didn’t vote for him personally, but drop the defense when Women of Color call us all out. It is our sole responsibility to educate our communities and initiate difficult conversations about race and privilege. As allies we must confront our loved ones, whether at holiday gatherings or on social media after your cousin shares her tenth "All Lives Matter" post of the week. I understand how disheartening these confrontations can become, but we cannot resort to inaction when we face the backlash black women experience on a daily basis. Feminism that excludes adversity faced by Women of Color is not feminism, period. Remember, our personal comfort is not and never will be paramount to another’s life.

Your Fight For Reproductive Justice Needs To Include Racial Justice

Reproductive justice encompasses more than merely birth control and abortion access. It also includes the right for Women of Color to raise their children without fear that they will fall victim to the school-to-prison pipeline, or be murdered by law enforcement for simply living while black. Fighting for body autonomy encompasses fighting against the systematic oppression People of Color endure.

I’m Sorry, But Love Alone Will Not Trump Hate

First, let me say, I am proud of you for participating in the Women’s March. 

We came together and empowered millions of women, which is no small feat. However, this is just the beginning of our budding resistance.

As white women, we need to go further, faster. Ask yourself: Do you stand in solidarity with People of Color? Are you willing to join the frontline when ICE separates more families? Are you using your resources or skills to aid marginalized communities? Historically, black activists such as Angela Davis, Medgar Evers, and Marsha P. Johnson were met with police brutality, and violence, DESPITE peacefulness or positivity. The only difference between The Women’s March and Black Lives Matter Movement is racial disparity. 

F*CK the normalization of white supremacy, bigotry, and high-fiving police officers. We need to be outraged, passionate, and 100% willing to support People of Color. 

Stop Trying To Make Cultural Appropriation Happen, It’s Not Going To Happen

Do I need to even explain what cultural appropriation is in 2017?  If you need examples, just search for images of "Ko-opted Kardashian Kornrows" or white Women’s March attendees with "Lemonade" lyric signs. You may wonder why appropriation is an important topic to address while our political system is in disarray, and here is the simple answer: Women of Color have repeatedly asked us to refrain from exploiting black culture, so let’s just refrain. You can love Beyoncé and sing along, but do not bottle up her Black Girl Magic to sell on Etsy.

Enough. Gynocentric. Feminism.

AKA, drop the trans-exclusive pussy hats and feminism that centers only women with vaginas. Juniperangelica Xiomara wrote a wonderful piece about this on Wear Your Voice. Go read it and share with your cis-identfying friends. 

Lastly, just LISTEN.

 How many of you hate being mansplained about sexism and your experiences? If you vigorously nodded yes, then why do you keep whitesplaining Women of Color? Race is not a tool to divide feminists, and the injustice of others does not invalidate our own experiences. 

We need to be honest with each other about the problematic aspects in the feminist movement. Activism is not a performance and injustice works around-the-clock; we have benefited from our white privilege, lucky enough to not feel the impact of oppression in our day-to-day lives. Accepting that as a simple truth rather an accusation is the only way our modern day feminist movement can progress and thrive.  

So, want to truly "get in formation?"

Let’s step up and support Women of Color.

---

Kyli Rodriguez-Cayro: Writer. Mixed Media Artist. Activist. Latina. Owner of PaperTrail Pendants. Manic Pixie Coffee Drinker. 

How I Combat Shaming Comments With Sexy Self Portraits (NSFW)

BY LAURA DELARATO

I’m not going to please every single person with my online presence, and I’m certainly not out to change minds by replying back to a person who dislikes my body type or hates my opinion so much they’ll type a three paragraph response for why I’m wrong. And that’s fine. I don’t need to be liked by everyone. Nonetheless, it is surprising the cruelty that can generate when safely behind a computer screen while remarking under an alias. Dating apps, comment sections, Instagram replies — there are zero restricted areas when it comes to being a dick on the Internet.

This is not just me. This is you. This is every person (i.e.: every woman) that has decided to express themselves on a public forum. And I get it…it’s the Internet where we are just supposed to deal with it. No. We use the Internet excuse too much especially when unsolicited sexual or health conversations. I’m done replying back to idiots or having to sit with an ignorant comment from a dude on Tinder.

Below are a few images from my untitled self-portrait project dedicated to not being silent while being virtually attacked.

RELATED: Online Dating Is a Double-Edged Sword of Empowerment & Sexual Predation

---

Laura Delarato is a video babe and writer at Refinery29. She is a staunch body positive activist, illustrator, sex educator and painter based in Brooklyn. Her work is deeply planted within body politics, fitness, and sex education. She also loves breakfast, banishing spells, her bike, and bikinis.