We are

I Xican@
Shall nothing to do
About losers and winners
that 1848 date
long ago come to pass it has
That bloody threshold birthing
— Crieth the child hast —
that now Breathes new life
And suckles the milk and honey
Of the magic corn
From whence nurture and nourishment cometh

Strong and vital
Celebrate I do
The foremother/father
Earth Madre cactus desert thy warmth thou giveth me
From running lives like dried river beds that suddenly life gain
Across the orality of their sayings
Fillith my head
Pass on their language/words/umbilical linguistic essence
Impregnated in their love for the land
New Mexico, Arizona, California, Tejas, The Southwest, La Frontera;
the landscape our crib is.

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