June

by Jessica Vega Gonzalez

June

June 13th, 33 years ago
She gave up her life to fight
against poverty, injustice, oppression.
I don’t know if she knew the cost
nor the kind of ripples it would
make.
June 3rd, 10 days ago
I stand up against it too,
in a sleeveless gray shirt and naked feet.

Stop.
A glass jar in the corner of the closet
filled with sage, smoke, and secrets.
Two poems from mother and friend.
A congested throat trying to release
the locked voice.
Stop.

I feel his face in mine.
I lay down and feel his body on mine.
Body remembers what the mind must
lock away safely.
A sore jaw and tight IT-bands
I am safe, she says.
Does this mean what I think it means?
A long, intentional pause.
A gentle, clear, and honest answer.
Yes.
Yes, it does.
What does it change?
Everything.

Put it on a paper in a glass jar with sage smoke in the corner of
the closet contained.
Next to flowers and pictures and
drawings and pain.
You look like her, Jessica.
Eyes rimmed red, feet on the ground
Practice the roots.
You know, she died.
Along with 30 other young people
Bombed from above and bulldozed
over by soldier trained and endorsed
in the land I now live.
They can’t even pronounce her name.
Abuelito found her head a month
later because she was one of only
two women and the only with short
hair.
He carried her head and a limb from
Managua to Esteli to be buried
with family.

You may rape me, America.
You may yell in my face and threaten
me.
You may even kill me like you killed
my Tia Nhordia.
No punishment you might inflict on me is worse than the punishment I put on myself by conspiring in my own diminishment. [-Parker Palmer]

I stand with much deeper roots.
With wind in my screams and
fire in my gut.
Kuan Yin in my hand and
Guadalupe on my back.
Rosaries around my neck
Prayers from black angels binding
and casting out all evil in
the Holy name of Jesus.
Fingers digging in my back ribs.
Salt and Holy Water and a circle
of candles.
Singing in tongues.
Drumming and swinging with big hair.
Borrowed sweat pants.
Stacks of court orders and pictures.
Stolen white board lists changing
each day demanding.
The first time I call this place
Home.

I am bringing it all,
Surrounded in light blue light.

Jessica Vega Gonzalez: A joyful mess. Mayan Death Dragon. Bridge. Her mother’s daughter. A little abrasive. Not a very “nice” person. Nicaraguan. Spanish. Spanglish. A Woman. Brown. A lot of Fire. Piano, ukulele, singing and swinging. Peace, Gratitude, Courage. Come, sit for a while.

And for more info on my music, check out facebook.com/universaloveband