By Liz Márquez
Glory the rebellion she leads in the sway of her hips the life her breasts nourish, how they call her lover home her blemishes her beauty—wrinkles made valiant in her smile. stretch marks the evidence her glory will not be contained. the expanding of her lungs in the inhale she demands. the injustices she bears witness to; her tears that call them by name. the healing she brings forth— weak made strong in her embrace. the sweet grace with which she carries all things heavy and hard. blessed is ella— holy tensions wrapped up in female skin, she—an imago dei revolution.
Pantoum for Tía Flor When Tía Flor makes lemonade She needs no recipe— A pinch and a few spoonfuls, squeeze out a love like this That cannot be measured, only felt. She needs no recipe. Her hands speak of the proverb in the pulp. This cannot be told in measures. Feel how Body and soul come together to let the Hands speak. This proverb in the pulp: Mothering is learning to sweeten the sour— body and soul. Come together to let the bitter be consumed by the saccharine. A mother learns. To sweeten the sour, A pinch, a few spoonfuls, squeezing to unmake a love this bitter. Be consumed by the saccharine— When Tía Flor’s memory makes lemonade with me.
Parted I stare anxious to name the parts that make up self madre my dre[ad] desmadre madre nueva infant motherhood mother other othered the mirror again lends itself to my nakedness
Liz Márquez is an Ecuadorian American bilingual educator and writer based in Houston, Texas. Her poems and other writings have appeared in Mixed Mag, Mujeristas Collective, Muchacha Fanzine, and more. She was also a 2021 La Raíz Poetry Prize recipient. For more of her work, visit www.lizmarquez.com.