their names have been lost
only the winds & only the mountains
keep them. we’ve forgotten the names
of the mountains, my people, the more
we bent our knees to worship the gods
of the city, the gods with jaguar eyes
who sit in the smog, which could be mistaken
for clouds but for the ink they leave
in our lungs, rorschach paintings doctors
dissect. what do you see? my death, certainly
but still no names of the women before
me, or the names of the mountains
& rivers, the promises my ancestors made
to the spirits & then betrayed when they fled
exchanged land for new land. what was her
name? i ask the room of my uncles &
am met with disinterest. where did she come
from? & I receive silence. that must be
it then: she came from air. from wind.
from the earth, stilling to quiet. & in
the right moment, when the sun hits
the water, when no one is around
when i can see the mountains breaking
the sky, i can almost hear them, the women
in my family, the ones who remember
their names.
