What’s alive today,

might not be by tomorrow.

Note to self: lean in.

A cactus blooming

in the hot, dusty desert.

Adaptation. Grit.

Pozontle, arroz

La fruta de cacao

me hace felíz

I was on fire.

First, for life. Then, for me. Then—

For writing these words

Suffered in silence

longing to be heard and felt

by the ghost not here

Zero…One Hundred

A waterfall, obsession

the dripping of me

Slowly unravel.

I want to be peeled, not cut.

And sautéed, not fried.

The heart remembers

—though dismembered and dispersed—

what the body keeps

How do I create

nourishment and medicine

for my sick body?

One day she stepped out.

She walked in, never came back.

-enchanted forest