I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
until we meet again, Peru
i’ll hold you in my heart and dream about the warmth of my tia
and remember the taste of ceviche and carapulcra
and the smell of the busy city streets with too much traffic
America can never compare to your rich history or the warmth of your people
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
my roots are locked in a this land
that calls me an other, a forever foreigner
a land where I’ve never felt welcomed
and yet this is what I call home
this is where I went to school
this is where my children were born and raised
this is the only other place I’ve called home
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
the breeze kissed my face in Lima as we drove past the ocean
and I was enchanted I was in love
with the place I was born in
with the place of my ancestors
my Peru is beautiful and magnificent
with a rich history of a people who have been conquered,
of a people who have endured –
of a proud people who carry their patriotism in their hearts and bones
and the best part-I get to call this place home
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
drove towards the moon, full of uncertainty and ambiguity
Wondering what’s next for me, tired of being the foundation
tired of acting like I don’t crash out
Drove towards the moon full of uncertainty and ambiguity
trying to manifest something softer and calmer for myself
where I’m not fighting for survival
I wrote this poem in October of 2022.
I don’t want to work that extra shift but my discover statement
tells me otherwise-
it tells me that once again I’m falling into a world of debt-
for daring to live a life above my means, above my class
and if I’m not careful I can slip back into poverty status
so I’ll work that extra shift and stop trying to live
a higher class life that’s not meant for me yet-
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
I sigh at the horizon in front of me as L.A is under siege again
and this time they’ve declared a state of emergency
I want to avoid the news, turn off my phone for a few days,
lock myself away in a cabin with my boyfriend
somewhere in the appalachian mountains
where I can forget the rest of the world
But I can’t, I can’t, I can’t
I wasn’t raised to look away in the face of injustice
or when the safety of my loved ones are compromised
instead I remain hypervigilant
Always on alert of this administration’s next dickhead move
hoping it’s enough to keep my loved ones protected
from chaos and destruction
hoping one day this madness will end
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
Black cat in the middle of the road in mid october
it’s almost halloween and almost a year since I lost contact with you
Black cat in the middle of the road in mid october
Laufey’s too little, too late plays on repeat
A sense of guilt hits me wondering what we could have been
Black cat in the middle of the road in mid october
my boyfriend told me I’m wife material
I’ve resigned myself to the fact there never will be an us
Black cat in the middle of the road in mid october
Time and luck never was on our side
No matter how hard both of us tried
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
let’s take a midnight flight to Tokyo and get lost in Japan
like that Shawn Mendes song
let’s eat great sushi if there is such a thing
and pretend we’re 15 again
and so free spirited and carefree
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
as the leaves turn crisp, I find myself reminiscent of the many women I’ve been
excited for the version of me that’s to come
understanding I was always right
to continue on and trust the process
understanding this heroine’s journey of mine
was indeed worth it
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
I dig and dig from the skeletal remains of my family’s lore to make art out of it
to pay tribute to my ancestors and my family hates me for it
because no one is sanctified or worshipped in my stories
everyone is shown as who they’ve been
flawed individuals with mistakes made
with self induced tragedies, with victims
and generational curses left and passed down to us
I wrote this poem in October of 2025.
compasses, faded maps, stereos, VCRS, corded phones
all relics of another era
when we weren’t one click away from seeking validation
from our peers or the news trying to break us with each headline
simpler times when we could ignore
what was happening around us
escribí este poema en septiembre del 2022.
los susurros de mi alma me dicen
que por fin me acepto como soy
que por fin me entiendo completamente
que por fin siento un agradecimiento
por una vida llena de dos lenguajes
dos culturas y dos hogares
soy la hija de nacimiento de Perú
y la hija adoptiva de América
soy la sangre de los Incas
con la mentalidad de Washington
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
my heart sings a bilingual song in imperfect castellano
and a fluent English
entre carcajadas y calor de mi comunidad de Athens
between my few childhood memories of Lima
entre las risas de mis hijos
between my parents many sacrifices
entre Wham y Slyvia Plath
between Bad Bunny and Gustavo Becquer
llevo América en mi corazón
I carry Peru in my veins
canto esta cancion con amor y dolor
I sing this song with love and pain
I wrote this poem in September of 2022.
I breathe in America I exhale out Peru
I’m distant, cold, and reserved at times
I’m warm, nurturing and dramatic at times
I was born in Peru, land of the Incas
land of the conquistadores
and have the blood of both run through my veins
along with their determination and fortitude
I was raised for most of my life in America
and lost part of my language and culture
and gained an individualistic American mindset
I breathe in America, I exhale out Peru
never had a choice in this bicultural existence
I wrote this poem in September of 2025.
once again the united states of white supremacy throws another wrench at my community
making it more of a crime to exist as we are
trying to erase our culture, trying to shame us for our heritage
trying to force us into assimilation by any means possible
trying to target us for simply not fitting into their idea of what America
should look and sound like
and I stand up in defiance and say, a mi me vale madre pendejos
estoy que desde 1986, sembrando raíces en California, Hawaii y Georgia
y me quedaré aquí como su peor pesadilla
una mujer latina, criada y educada en este país
que no se dejara llevar por la marginación y racismo constante
de esta administración
y que luchará hasta el último respiro por quedarse aquí
