I Am Red Soil


I am red soil.
I am the spilt blood on Indian soil after conquistadors
have raided the towns of my anscestors
and purged the Indian out of the man
and forced the European into the aboriginal woman.
I am the red moon
that paints itself the color of despair
on the night of the first birth of the
Mexican.
"Mexican,"
it is said, with an upwards tilt of the lip,
as if it were something bitter and distasteful
that must be swallowed down.
I am the daughter of a land
that has been robbed of it's original habitants;
I am the creation that springs from destruction
and genocide;
I am both miracle and curse.
I am lamentation,
and culture,
and lover of weeds and sunflowers
that rise from bloody water to salute the sinful sun.
I am red soil,
but I am still soil, as good as any out there.
Plant your flowers here, and they will flourish.
I promise.

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