Amanda Rosas
CUERO Y PLATA
Flesh tanned in the organic prowess of desert and sun.
Skin that knows the nature of transformation, that
possesses the energy of the endured. The plata flows,
a sky to river continuum in memoriam of hard work
and comadre-ship, heavy, necessary as rainfall to
harvest. The plata, a tribute to the mothers bearing
children while grandmothers kneel and pray to
candlelight Vírgenes and Santos and kiss crucifijos
lips clammy in whispers of the rosary. Mothers
whose silver trust is worn daily, easily on the
nape pulse of neck. Cuero y plata blend together
in dusted arms that carried the elders’ roots like
the Tilma while the border swept across, over
and around. México bound in the arc of their
elbows, la madre patria carried within and without.
Spanish, a pressed fragrance of nopal on their tongues.
Rebelling traditions of the past are the women they
dreamed we would be, their resistance. Our culture
preserved, leather somersaulting silver on the sun
beaten wheat of my wrist.