From a long line of turquoise loving women,
fiery, like opals of Mexico.
Unpolished, our souls, semi-precious,
full of narratives, to be recorded.
Red heads, educated, full of extremes and suicides,
tales of unrequited love filled my young head
igniting the story teller in me, where to start?
Where to stop? Do men get writ in?
What of the men? Grave diggers and thieves,
fed Thanksgiving dinner to the dogs to punish
mother for working that day, she didn’t like turkey,
there was never another holiday.
And what of the women that look like me, in
history, the ones I never met but cannot forget –
unphotographed, crowding my dreams, screaming
about: alcoholics, gamblers and philanderers,
a group of phenomenal women who loved turquoise,
world – I ask, ‘are you ready for the fiery souls of Mexico?’