Alejandra C. Chavez

Garments my grandmother washed

En el río

for strangers,

for a handful of pesos.

Scrubbing threads pristine

river water turned white foam.

I wonder if the bubbles were to her

her children, I wonder if she bid them

blessings, I wonder if even then she knew

she’d leave us poor and mourning. Her kids ate

once a day. Beans and tortilla. Nothing belongs to us.

Soiled water ran toward rock filtration, toward cascade,

ashamed of my grandmother’s dirt, her sweat. The river rains.

Alejandra C. Chavez earned her MFA in Poetry at the University of California, Riverside. Her poetry is haunted by the memory of home, and she travels to Guadalajara, Jalisco, any chance she gets. Alejandra’s poetry has been published in Nighthawk Literature, Vitni Review, Mujeres de Maiz, Hinchas de Poesia, and East Jasmine Review. She enjoys casting spells and long walks on the beach (though not necessarily in that order and often simultaneously). You will also find her at rock concerts in Los Angeles, usually in the pit.

< Previous: Rhonda Hattar Next: Ana P. >