Sacred

I. Indigo

Paint your city indigo
and place it at the heel of the mountains,
at the edge of the rainforest

Name it
for the twin peaks like horns,
or for a saint,
and pave it with cobblestone

Make a quiet
rainfall
and a silky
fog lift
and a sun that will
breakthrough

to reflect
whitewashed indigo
like the freshwater of the lakes in Chiapas

Build a place for prayer
on a hill overlooking the city
a mosque, or a raft
and climb or glide, but do not swim
when you hear the call to prayer –

sometimes a marriage procession,
or the voice of the muezzin,
or a dancing boy and his tambourine

II. Rosary

Crammed between tables of Moroccan men,
in the outdoor seating of a café,
over a glass of mint tea,
I would like to tell you:

Civilizations do not clash in me
anymore –
perhaps they never did

I know I am not made of oil and water
because I am blurring continents, smearing oceans
with the edge of my left hand

I know I am café nusnus
because I am momentarily unsure
whether the woman in the mural
is a Muslim or a Zapatista,
because I am speaking Spanish to my African mother,
watching Mexican telenovelas in darija,
searching for Córdoba in Marrakech

My spine is a rosary
And I carry places like prayer beads.
Run your fingertips
down the middle of my back
and you will see that I am whole,
not split,
soft-skinned and another shade of coffee

you will be surprised,
as I still am,
at the length of my spinal column,
at the distance between vertebrae –
thirty-three places of origin,
and I have not returned to all of them yet

my birthplaces are cuauhnahuac,
close to trees,
sometimes named
for the horns of a cow or a goat,
but when you touch the curve of my spine,
you will see that I have emerged
from the city where it is always spring,
from the inside of an oak,
from a tree with purple bark in the mountains of Oaxaca

you can trace my roots
in the syllables of my last name,
listen to my father’s love of the earth
when I tell you who I am,
hear the sweat and soil whisper
that I am his daughter

and when you reach my sacrum,
and feel the fused bones,
you will understand why I cannot distinguish
between some of these places

Alegrías in Rabat

because I am afraid my steps would break this tile
with their zapateado –
because my feet will not listen if I say
shh or don’t –

I let them weave
fleeting choreographies on medina streets at night,
dance invisible threads
around dangling hooves and fluorescent lights and the paling heads of goats,
between heaping spices in burlap bags and men frying meat for the 7:30 rush,

rapid taconeo around steaming snails,
young boys and their shoe pyramids,
wheelbarrows of cactus fruit and watches,
pointed leather slippers and lingerie

until I am only an embroidered Mexican dress
and an oily fishtail braid
blurring with satin and wool djellabas in the hearts of North African cities,
my steps humming the paintings of Frida Kahlo,
lending movement to My Dress Hangs There

the soles of my feet sing that like me, she would have liked
being pulled to the inside of the storyteller’s circle,
out from between the bodies of men,
another woman who wants stories, too

I am asking my feet to find the compás
to blend the reggaeton in my waist,
the alegrías in my feet,
with the Arabic syllables in
Moroccan rap and Egyptian love songs

this city makes enough sound
that even my heels do not miss the nails of my flamenco shoes –
after all,
in sandals I am almost barefoot,
and I think perhaps that this
city will love me faster
if she knows the shape of my feet

Hummingbirds

beside this ocean,
(I am told that North Carolina is out there, somewhere straight ahead)
men shift their weight from rock to rock
steady their fishing poles in gray late afternoon light

not a beach for swimming,
Hind told me in her silvery voice, pointing out
cross-currents and waves like teacup shards

beside this ocean,
neither Hamza nor I
could speak this language yet
and he wanted only to toss pebbles,
pluck them from my palms

now it is sunset,
and just as I think,
maybe there are hummingbirds in these waves,
she says,
I never realized there was so much movement in water,
if that makes any sense