MARIO MEDINA

VERBAL ROOTS​​

​​

​

In my memory

Seed games

Are woven

Red, white and blue

Necklaces and ribbons

Wave in the wind.

 

 
While I listen in the distance

To ancestral songs

In the voices of the elders

In what is the most pure

Of a summer decked

In coritas.

 

 
The firmament

Has shrouded me with stars

And silently lights

The contours of my village

Surrounded by saguaros

And ironwoods.

 

On the shore of the ocean

My sunrises

And my sunsets take root

Into this island

That has been a witness

To our tenacious survival.
 

​

​

​