speaking in tongues
spanish came speared into the socked jaws of my people
sawed off the Indio dialects over siglos and snorted the dust
cuz there was trade to rush with ingleses as rust-taste gushing
buzzed like love called us beautiful struggle called us for
callbacks for the play where the Brown y Black learn to arch
backs for the white man’s painting before the curtain stashes
us backstage again and the audience claps high off that
sensation of sitting in a restaurant with all these ethnic options
but can’t take the sweat as my people open sesame
red running molars when they ask us what’s the recipe
I played an old-school norteño on the speakers —
and asked if I was trying to revive our ancestors.
She unplugged my phone and plugged in hers
then played the newest Latino pop hit on the speakers.
Our ancestors cheered,
took over our bodies and got fuckin’ down.
Mom’s chile hit
when a moment of silence
fell upon the dinner table,
each guest peering in
to their own directio—*cough*