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  • Writer's pictureLiz Márquez

La lucha de florecer

My garden blooms Every time Mami comes alive to an old-school cumbia. Here, her hips forget their aches. Here, her demons cannot find her. She glows, becoming herself again. Her smile is my wildflower, growing through the cracks.


My garden blooms With every gentle word I speak over mi chiquito. Seeing him as the whole person he is, It changes us both at once. Love leaves my mouth, Love waters his still-budding garden.


My garden blooms With every meal we make en la cocina, With every soul we nourish at la mesa. Here, we remember nuestras raices The flowers who showed us how to flourish, The flowers we honor in our flourishing.


My garden blooms But not without gran esfuerzo. Pulling out the weeds Threatening this garden— The secrets we keep for the men we defend, The lies they make of our bodies. The colorism that runs down to our roots, The pervasiveness of its reality. The healing we close ourselves off from, The help we continually reject— Es la lucha de cada día. En la lucha seguimos.

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