You old woman with a walker on the cobblestone roads 

wearing shimmer and radiant lilac saying “excuse me, its my birthday”

as I kiss your cheek, touch your arm and say “Feliz en tu dia”

I am not alone

and we are not afraid.

El pasado miércoles mi co-curadora y yo fuimos informadas de una decisión tomada por la alta administración y la dirección de Michigan State University (MSU) en relación a la exhibición Diasporic Collage.

This morning my co-curator and I were informed of a decision that came down from MSU upper administration and university leadership regarding the “Diasporic Collage” exhibition.

You bundled up in your wool coat, doubled checked the contents of your bag (microphone, iPad, iPhone, wallet, notebook, pencil case, chargers), and grabbed your travel mug.

i dyed alone. 

i died and made a pact with the dead,

We lost our first baby in 2013. I woke up one August morning with sharp pains coming in quick succession.

Fifteen days before we found out that our baby’s heart had stopped beating we were driving from Michigan to Baltimore for a post-holiday family gathering.

you worry you have no imagination no worlds outside your own

48 weeks ago i was floating in the water on the edges of the beach in piñones. this is not a photo of piñones.

In her 1994 article, “History as Fiction, Fiction as History” Michelle Cliff asks, "How do we capture the history that remains only to be imagined?" 

"tell them that she even though she called the police a few times when he hit her she would [later] drop the charges. [we] could not use [that evidence] in court. he got away with murder."