Melissa del Mar (Mexico)

 
Melissa del Mar (Mexico)
 
Melissa del Mar (1999), studies communication and digital media at Tecnológico de Monterrey. Holds a diploma in Mexican Literatures in Indigenous Languages (2019), from the National Institute of Fine Arts and Literature (Mexico). She has been published in Buenos Aires Poetry, Mood Magazine, MásCultura of Gandhi’s Bookstore, El Universal, and has given a TEDx Talk about poetry. She is head of dissemination and communication of Cardenal, Revista Literaria, and director of the Art and Culture Section of the newspaper PICO Informativo. She currently teaches the creative writing workshop “All the names I am”. In addition, her work has been presented in Mexico, Costa Rica, the United States, Argentina, Colombia, and Chile.
 
 
Resurrection
 
The morning is awakened by a lamb
that entangles his eyes in the threads of my sheets.
He whispers to me creeds that he dreamed forgotten,
his bleating points to the forthcoming.
 
I emerge from the house that I live in
and in my garden, I find
a door that I cross without
stopping to open.
The lamb accompanies me.
 
I prune the desert that I remember
and I feel a close sea.
I look to the center of its abyss
I see a woman going by,
who in her arms rocks
the girl
which is herself.
 
She calls me by a name
in which I recognize myself,
where she does too.
Our name is not a word,
it is the breath in which we both
exist.
And between the wasteland and the rye,
I am also gestating a promise inside my own womb,
I sprout, I give life to myself,
I grow spore, I flow in my limbo
crossing the path to get to who I am,
to the self that must be born again.
 
I am my milestone, here begins the land
of my story,
which this time, I tell without guilt,
which this time, I write without sin.
 
 
 
Today as then
 
Bindweed of water, inhabited by the spiral
of the sea and the shadow, fertile land
your mouth is,
where the words reborn.
 
We dream of ourselves as plants
to understand the words
that the grass emanates
when we hear it.
 
The stems that the dawn brings,
burst from you
and they unite us all like your daughters,
twinning each bud
bulb, field,
seed.
 
We germinate from the root of the tule
and we cross branches
to heal our inheritances
herbs, wounds, and
today, as then,
we name ourselves as one
facing the death that plagues us.
 
We are the foundational verb
in your language that is placenta.
Fruitful maple oil you emanate,
to give us life, wind
word of your womb.
 
We will walk birch trails
to reach the threshold that dwells us,
and so enraptured,
we will plant your memories
and cover them with moss,
to avoid that,
today, as then,
they all get trampled.
 
We recognize each other in your milk tongue,
which is also
countryside, where
despite the death inhabited in your substrates,
we will learn to sing other
melodies that are not just to
accompany sorrow.
 
I thank the nectar that runs out from your hand,
like lichens of warm honey,
threads of light,
from which you nourish the mouth of stone.
You slow down, spike, in the wheat field of your verse,
the raving of life that passes by. And
today, as then,
your strands weave us past, present.
And so, we are one in the dust that reminds us,
we are all
on the griddle that reinvents who we are.
 
And if they intend to bury our branches,
snake-like steam will come out of our oaks
to say, never again in silence, that
today, as then,
we will continue to sprout.
 
And if burning us in bonfires they seek,
we will burn in flames that paint the sky,
to remind you that our fire cannot be put out with water, and
today, as then,
we will resist.
 
And if they want to tear another of us off the ground,
we will use as rain the crying of women that have been taken away from us,
in graveyards, we will sow, in their memory jacarandas and
today, as then,
each time stronger,
we will be born again.
 
 
 
 

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