Winds of Change
“Mira.” My grandmother would point up to the sky as she took her last few smokes of her Salems; “Va hacer aire.” I must have been about 6 or 7 years old but I can remember looking up and seeing these oddly formed clouds; broken up pieces scattered all over the sky. Some looked smeared, as if someone had spilled water while they were painting them. Dicho y hecho, there was wind later that day.
Rage & El Llanto as Medicine
I THINK OF how many times my rage actually protected me—how it was there to inform me that I needed to protect myself. I reflect on my chamaca self (my younger self) and how anger and rage sustained me during that stage of my life.
El Señor Colibri
I heard it in the distance; a faint “chiflido” as my grandmother would call it. A whistling that came from above. Then something caught my eye; un colibri (a hummingbird).
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Adriana L. Medrano, PhD 