Malinche :
My Mother, color of earth wetness of ancient clay
Singing, singing cantinas
Little red mouth and spiky heels
Mother of free temptation and of my admiration
Mixtec foot, flat one, step is grounded
The masks of my mamawindsnake are proof
Of the warrior jaguar who inhabits her womb
Time is longer without her word of strength
Her ambition for being true to the internal animal
The one who swallows Dior, Ford Explorer and Palmolive soap by the box
Woman who sought to see herself in the wise eyes of ?the other?
The white man, bird of movement-from the wind that blows on the earth
Looking, asking, wrapping himself in the Indian sex
The orchid perfume poison of love
The fertility of mountain, black mountain
Friend of Weston, Scottish warrior mouth
Perverse, such as all men who do not hide
Their lust, the desire with no conscience, never, but so much to leave their sign
Momentary, with such radiance, as the splendorous cock in his chicken coop
Momentary?
As such, the voice permutates by its accents, in the times of a sad woman,
Woman of drinks,
Woman who sings the crying woman
As to Luther did the Inquisition
The arias forged the amplitude of the chords in the throat
But the loudspeaker forged the harmony of a conscience birthed in my neighborhood
Saint Nicholas, every day at five in the morning
In the cold of the mountain, my market city
