Poetry by Xitlalic Guijosa-Osuna

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Xitlalic Guijosa-Osuna who is a Southeast L.A. Michoacana-Sinaloense, poeta and visual artist. She is the owner and creator of Tarjetitas con Amor greeting cards that represent her community as well as her family. She writes and prints about Guayabas, her Madre, her grandmothers, and memories. 

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Maria de Los Angeles

I carry my mami's name always. 

Carved right into my heart. 

Worn proudly for 33 years. 

Maria de Los Angeles. 

Sounds like it was meant to be 

written in cursive.

With all the embellishments, 

All the twist and turns 

Of her name.

Who named you, ma?
Your grandfather did.
Didn’t he have another name other 

Than Maria.

My mami was the fourth Maria.

She has three sister with the name Maria.

None of which went by Maria 

Unless they were working.

My grandparents called them by

Their second name.

It was the way the church

Requested that all women 

Be named after a saint 

Or the virgin.

There was 

Maria Guadalupe,

Maria Consuelo,

Maria Elena,

And my mother

Maria de Los Angeles.

My mother didn’t go

by her second name.

She went by some 

Diminutive like Mah-ree

Mary, MAH-RE-AH.

Chanqueles Maria, 

My cousin always spelled it Marie

Like a white boy. 

Her name is so regal 

And needed to be annunciated 

All the way.

All 8 syllabus need to 

Be formed. In

This was a name fit for her.

Maria de Los Angeles 

 

Generation Ketchup 

What do you mean there’s no ketchup?!

The dismay in my nephews eyes 

Said everything and it only made me want to 

Laugh at loud as I offered him some salsa that

My madre santa had made the night before 

For dinner.

How I’m I suppose to eat my eggs?

His eyes nearly popped out of their socket.

There’s salsa right here kid. 

I pointed to the glass dish that held that 

Concoction my mother so diligently made. 

Roasting chile de arbol inside the house 

Like we all needed our sinus drained.

It has tomatoes and garlic and salt and chile. 

It’s like ketchup but with a kick.

Here stood my nephew is disbelief.

Asking the most simple question known to 

A 1st generation slash immigrant Mexican house hold. 

Why don’t y’all have ketchup in this house?????

There’s never any ketchup! 

Dear 2nd generation Mexican

You have entered the realm of 

Stuff  that should be in an American household 

But isn’t quiet American because migration is 

Hella real here.

Our roots are still over there 

And they only just started with me

Your first generation tia and you first and 2nd generation nephew.

See ketchup when I was younger was a distant concept.

There was some but it wasn’t a necessity like it is with you.

We would only get them when we were well behaved and

Were treated to the magic that use to be McDonald’s and 

Your grandmother would take the extra ketchups packets home.

Same with mustard.

That yellow stuff  was not even recognized until I was about 10 years old

And I was given mustard flower that tasted divine.

Yes divine.

But ketchup as I quickly learned was nothing but rotten tomatoes

Mashed together with vinegar and maybe some sugar. 

Ketchup was not a veggie either 

So it didn’t make its way to our house.

There are only a few times ketchup was acceptable.

With coctel de camaron 

Con papa frita.

Cunado visitas la tia Gringa that has been living in 

Highland Park since the late 60’s.

Ketchup es pa los gringos, nephew 

We have salsa and tapatio. 

We have chile peppers of all sorts and colors.

 

The Color Beautiful

My peoples color is the color beautiful.

It represents my parents
which I think almost loved
each other at the same time
once.
My color is made up of 33 years
being kissed by the sun.
I represent my people
and my peoples colors

is the color beautiful.
I am made up of fire and water
of earth and blue corn
so naturally I stay in the west

So I can see the sun kiss the ocean.
My peoples color is the color beautiful
and its warm under the sun

in the southeast side
playing tag, chasing my sisters
because it’s my turn to be “it”.
Playing jump rope, racing each other
to see who was quick to make it

to the big chain link fence.
I am the descendent of the hummingbirds.
I hold stories of people that come
searching for dreams.
My peoples color is the color beautiful

and you can see it in their eyes,
in there braided hair decorated with bows
in faldas/skirts and blouses embroider
with stories that we have carried
forever.

Forever like that with no number.
Since the beginning of time.
My peoples color is the color beautiful
mixed of migrations and dreams.
Connected to all of the earth
and remembering.
My peoples color is the color beautiful. 

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Poetry By Janet Gonzalez

Janet is a Mexican born Spoken word artist that was transplanted to the city of Chicago at the age of eleven and relocated her life to the city of Angels in 2004. As an undocumented immigrant for over twenty years Janet made it her purpose to tell the hidden stories of Immigrants, the stories no one cares or wants to tell for fear or shame. Trying to raise awareness on immigration, gang violence and drug abuse Janet  has been featured at prestigious  universities like UCLA, USC, Cal  State Poly, and  Redlands University to name a few. She has engaged in numerous fundraisers for scholarships benefiting undocumented students at Art galleries, community centers coffee shops and even her friend’s back yard, anywhere to evoke awareness.

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Janet's Facebook page is facebook.com/1areyoulistening and her business is Innovative Auto Collison 323-432-2277.

El Facebook de Janet es facebook.com/1areyoulistening y mi taller se llama Innovative Auto Collison 323-432-2277
 

Love Lullabies 

She fell in Love when she was five years old
As if he was her charming prince
But it’s been an abusive relationship since then 
My mother has been in a love hate relationships for years
With Nopales
Let me explain
There’s a big Nopalera  in my front garden
Who screams there’s a Mexican in this house
I feel proud 
It was my mom who planted it 
It was a small cutting she stole from a neighbor’s house
OK mom
It wasn’t stealing 
She was trying to help the neighbor prune it
The Nopal is a reminder of where we come from 
Indigenous lands
Resilience
Beauty
But painful to love it
No matter how much she loves him
No matter how much she sings to him
No matter how much she praises him 
He makes it difficult to love him
Hay ya me pico otra vez
She don’t care 
She keeps nurturing him
I am jealous 
She waters him with love and song 
In return he giver her pieces of him
I am jealous 
He makes her cry all over again
Without fail she is calling me 
Janet este carbon me bolvio a picar 
Bring your twizer and alcohol
Come rescue me from this pain
I want to rip him off of me
But she can’t
Won’t stop
Loving him
You see 
He’s the one who save her from herself
When Anorexia was drowning her body
He pulled her up
It was he who nourished her
At 93 pounds of skin and bones 
He kept on loving her 
Sustaining her
Soothing her
It was loving him that kept her sane
Singing to him, 
Watering him with love 
Gave her a purpose 
He reminded her of home
He sang memories of love 
He reminded her of her mother falling in love 
Going on walks in her ranchito
With nothing more than a knife and a lantern 
Walking amount the cornfields 
With the moon as the witness to her love
Her mother would come back home 
With basket in hand
Lips tinted of red nectar
Bringing her baby girl
Red kisses of tunas
And green prickly harts 
My mother  fell in love when she was five years old
 

Cantos de Amor

Se enamoro a la edad de cinco anos

Como si ubiera sido un principe azul quien la encanto  

asido una relacion turbulenta y abusive desde que empeso

Mi madre tiene una relacion de amor y odio por anos

Con los nopales

Deja te explico

Hay Una nopalera en mi jardin

Que con grito avierto canta aqui viven Mexicanos

Me siento orgullosa

Fue mi madre quien la planto

De un retonito que se rovo de la casa de un vesino

Ok mami

No fue robo, solo le alludo al vesino en  apodar el nopalito

El nopal es un recordatorio de las tierras donde venimos

Tierras Indiguenas

Tierras Nativas

Resistencia

Hemosura

Pero dolorosa de amar

No imparta cuanto lo ama

No importa cuanto le cante

No importa cuanto lo adore

El dificulta el amerle

Hay ya me pico otra vez

A ella no le importa

Con tan solo que el de un pedasito de si

Ella lo sigue cuidando

Tengo selos de el

Lo llena de cansiones de amor

Y el le regresa pedacitos de vida

Tengo selos de el

La lastima

La hace llorar

Y sin falla me llama

Janet me bolvi a espinar este cabron

Traite el alcol

Rescatame de este dolor

Quiero arrancarlo de mi

Pero no para

No deja de amarlo

Fue el quien la rescato de si misma

Cuando la norexia la asfixiaba el la rescato

La cuido

La nutrio

A sus noventa y tres libras de piel y hueso

El la siguio queriendo

Apasiguandole el alma

Fue el amarlo que la mantubo cuerda

Cantandole, canciones de amor

El le regreso el proposito de vivir

El le recurda de su ranchito

El le canta recuerdos de amor

El le recuerda cuando su madre se enamoro

Saliendo a caminar por su ranchito

 tan solo con un cuchillo y su linterna

Caminando en entre la milpa

Con la luna de testiga

De su gran amor

Su madre regreba a casa,

Cansta en mano

Cos us labios tenidos de nectar rojo

Trallendo regalos a su nina

Besos de tunas rojas

Y corazones verdes llenos de espinas

Mi madre se enamoro cuando tenia cinco anos

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My Reflection

The Moonlight shines bright on my face

The reflection in the mirror has changed  a bit
The soft skin my vanity ones praised
It's now canvas of ancient hieroglyphics
Depictions what my life once was
The silver Cascades flowing down my back
Embody thousands of great stories
Love fairy tales
Heartaches 
Life changing moments
And those that went unnoticed 
My hands are no longer what they used to be
The art they once made is merely memories
The breast that once fed Diego's ego 
Are now empty Oasis in the desert
The sacred Temple that once was my broken womb
It's now a  desolated Church
And my heart feels tired
A bit more than my feet
Walking this Earth for forty seven summers
I look into the mirror 
And I can't help but smile
My life was full of wonders
I dreamed without limitations
Painted without apprehension 
Loved without reservations
Laughed till I cried
And I cried rivers
And smiled heavens
I live to the fullest
The wrinkles on my face are a testament of it
And now that my last summer has arrived
I lay my soul to rest
Without regrets
No what ifs
Just a permanent smile
Getting my last wrinkle to perfection
I hope the exit is joyful
And I hope never to return