I will become.

He think I'm going to trace the veins in my legs

that tears don't do it for me any more

Sometimes the vastness between feels like the first encounter

Blue eyes like the open seas

"That is where I come from" I said.

"That is my home."

The words cut sharply into the lamp-lit room, but like glass,

they do not hold up well against gravity.

I look at my face, daily, my ritual

my canteloupe shaped cheekbones

coffee stained eyes

dull-brown skin

mole-skin hair

What is contained in this body, this face?

I perceive myself as a symbol

as the colonizer taught us

Nose - blanca

Hair - indio

and on and on - always one or the other

always self-conscious truth-lies

Reified only in the ritual. It doesn't matter.

So I make lists, count weeks and outline steps - match my orbit to the moon's

As palms come together to make the maza - I contain my ancestors and destiny

into a single rondelle

softly and tenderly

I will become my actions.