Derechos
And it's completely our r i t e
in our calling to w r i t e
in order to r i g h t . . .
They force us to fight
overlooking our flight
and it ain’t about running;
We’re rooted and cunning
Been at it so long
because we belong
We push on their box
finding healing with rocks.
And they'll presume
that we've got it all wrong
Insist and persist
that they know our damn song
Not knowing
That our rites
aren't just passage;
They're L I F E.
I've had this one in the notebook stash since 2018. It was inspired by the fuckery fatigue* of having to advocate for my child throughout a series of failed IEP meetings with a school district that is notoriously racist in that subtle institutionalized way. In the habit of making it about family and cultural deficits, hedging their bets on a perceived lack of resources, they insisted on suppressing my child's access to an equal education. And, here we are.
As is often the case, this piece felt applicable to so many situations beyond that experience. I'm sharing here because it's screaming it wants out --fully in the open to find whoever needs it in the now.
And while I thought I was brilliant with my wordplay on derechos in reference to rights and walking with integrity, the universe slapped me with another layer of meaning straight outta the Oxford Dictionary and that felt like a poem all in itself as the most fitting of fitting metaphors for this piece:
de·re·cho/dāˈrāˌCHō
noun US
plural noun: derechos
- a line of intense, widespread, and fast-moving windstorms and sometimes thunderstorms that moves across a great distance and is characterized by damaging winds.
Been kicking since the womb. Guerrera since creation. Chingona is my calling.