amparo: la ciguapa who sang the bluez.

legend has it that Queen Isabella gifted Columbus with a gift. it was a cross that he was to plant in the highest mountain he found. during the great battle the cross went missing.

in the highlands of kisyeya live womxn with feet that face the other way, skin like turmeric and long blue hair.

she wasn’t supposed to be out, not at that time and not on that part of the island, but she was. out, following things she wasn’t supposed to be going after, she walked alone.

i didn’t even know i could sing. til’ one day, my throat unbuckled itself & my tongue started dancin' tween’ notes. i didn’t have a clue, the last thing i thought i was doing was singin’, i thought i was screeching, crying, kicking reckless, or something but singin? no. and even if i was, singin’, what song? my music couldn’t make anyone dance.

i was too sad & i couldn’t remember why or how my skin got so soft. unlike my mother, i cracked under pressure, easy. i felt too much, too deeply, too fast. too angry, too sassy, too unapproachable but always, when time was on time, available for consumption. so no, that couldn’t have been music i was making. i would of remembered.

born outta rupture, outta lava & rocks. my belly full of bodega dreams, beef patties, & ginger beers, fire hydrants & hot cheetos. i move, & i am from here. my body’s history travels, i am my body, my shadow and my ghost. what does it mean to be born out of rupture? outta of a mountain, and baptist church cookouts, a hood, a volcano that will explode just to prove a point.

to be born out of a living thing, capable of breaking the earth’s bark, means that i come from the crumbling as much as i come from the fabric’s tight stitch. to be born where i was born is to know that i am not special. anyone could have been me yet they are not. & anyone could sing but not my song. & yes, anyone could write but not my poem.

amparo stood by the rocks, the dirt framed the river’s body, listening to the waterfall screaming, falling, rolling down its own current. it was dark and she was fearless. when she sang that first song, a thousand voices sang with her. a sound, her voice colossal and so wide she wondered if anyone else could hear it. she wondered, how she, knowing such little of words, nothing of instruments be singing? then outta the bluez, a red sea rushed down her tights, blood. she was bleeding out all the secrets her grandmother’s left for her. this is what she was waiting for, a clock. she didn't want to tell a soul of her new wisdom, and she would never tell anyone, that now she could tell time with her own body.

here is your body, here is water, here is water, water and more of it. drink, feast and dance. you are more than an offering, your ancestors dreamt you here. so here, here is your body, i know it hurts when you remember but don’t forget every thing. sometimes a memory comes back to remind you that what happened should never ever happen again.

here you are, & here is the rest of the world. the rest of your life. here are your small breasts, and your short hair. here, you are laying in your own bed, there is no one on top of you, no one is chocking you, you are alone, & you are singin’ & it feels so good.