I traveled to the desert to find your spirit still alive and breathing in the rusty rocks. A cathedral of stones I walked through like prayer to find your searing look blazing through time to meet my eye.
Back to Mexico, your self-styled Oaxacan sister in long, bright skirts dares us to pity her. She reaches through the thick paint letting her pain drip raw and unapologetic. She prevails defiant and unflinching. The throbbing ache of her broken body, loss and betrayal only serve to fan her flame. She rides the heat as it laps up higher, burns brighter.
This too is my heritage.