Eccles Presents Salt Lake Speaks: Feelings of Fall

Los Hermanos de los Andes is an Andean folk music ensemble dedicated to preserving and sharing our rich and unique musical heritage. We perform using authentic ethnic musical instruments, many of which date back to the ancient Inca civilization. As a group, we firmly believe that culture plays a vital role in our lives, possessing the beautiful power to create significant and positive impacts on individuals and communities. Our mission is to educate by sharing our heritage and fostering unity among people of all backgrounds.

Dr. Shaison P. Ouseph is an internationally acclaimed filmmaker, and his public service campaigns to promote literacy, empowerment of women, and action against child exploitation have won him many accolades. Among the esteemed organizations that have bestowed awards are the United Nations, the US Embassy, the International Labour Organisation, and several national and international awards.

Currently, he is on the Board of Directors, Associate Dean, and Head of the Department for Film and Television at XIC, St. Xavier’s College, Mumbai. His feature film, “The Face of the Faceless,” is the true story of a Catholic nun who was murdered for empowering tribal women and children in the remotest villages in India.

“The Face of the Faceless,” has already won the prestigious International Catholic Visual Media (ICVM) Golden Award 2024 and was screened at the Vatican. It has received more than 100 international awards and was considered as one of the nominees for the 2024 Academy Awards.

Facebook.com/shaisonp

The Faces of Fall

Fall is birth and life,
-fall from the womb to the earth.
Fall is dark and light,
– falling from darkness into light.

Fall is earthbound journey,
-the journey into oneself.
Fall is a detachment,
-detachment of one’s ego.

Fall is an inspiration and creation,
-imagination to colour the world.
Fall is a memory and treasure,
-memories of cherished life.

Fall is a feeling of being felt,
-feeling of joy and happiness,
-feeling of past and present,
and a season of love and life.

Fall is rhythmic music,
-music of land and sea.
Fall is an generous act.
-an act of self-surrender—Fall.

Laura Ruiz Ortega is a multilingual slam poet, her poetry highlights the language of her ancestors and her journey as an immigrant woman of color living in a land whose borders crossed her. She has been featured in various Literary festivals in Utah, Reno, and Mexico City. She is the winner of the 2022 Sor Juana Prize for Spanish Poetry, one of the winners of Button Poetry’s short form poem of 2024 among other awards. She dedicates her free time to her children, her partner and to ultra running on various trails in Utah. She considers Nature and the mountains a source of healing and inspiration for her poetry.

The Faces of Fall

And from all the stars 
that were glowing that night 
you chose to sleep
under the constellation 
that I secretly hide in,
You found my hiding place
the warmth of my being,
 
and how did you make
the flame of my heart
immediately ignite

when my voice touched your skin? 

Who are you? How did you know?

-it was just a casual afternoon

Michael Monson is an accomplished classical guitar player, a polyglot, and multidisciplinary artist.

Poem Titles

Sta Arrivando (Italian)
Somnis Del Mar (Catalan)
Lua Do Meu Coração (Portugués)

Sta Arrivando
It arrives

The Summer, the Summer
To where are you going?
Following the sun flying
Toward the South walking
You leave me my shadow
a little longer
Forgetting me, Forgetting…..me

In the morning the Sun waits
A little longer before rising
And surging to warm the world
And melt the frost and its heat
To warm me
Please do not forget me…..do not forget …..me

It arrives, it arrives, the Autumn
It’s painting the leaves of the trees
With colors so beautiful
Painting the leaves red, orange and yellow
And giving us the last fruits of the year
Peaches, apricots, and apples
Giving them to me. Giving them….to me

It arrives, it arrives, a little bit of cold
At morning I light a little fire
To warm the milk and a piece of bread
With coat, scarf, cap, gloves are on my hands
I’m walking again to school
Returning again to my friends
Will they remember me?
Will they remember……me?

Somnis Del Mar
Dream of the Sea

Standing on the docks
Looking out to sea and water
Under the warmth of sun
Standing next to my father

Dreaming both
Of a great ship
To carry us afar
Flying away like birds

The cold arrives
They leave for another day
The dreams of today
For some other month

Now I am with my son
Upon that selfsame dock
Dreaming of flying away
Under the warmth of the same sun

Lua Do Meu Coração
Moon of my heart

Dance, Dance my beautiful Moon
Dance your light upon the waves
Upon the waves of endless sea
Brilliant Moon
Harvest Moon
The Moon that holds my heart

Black eyes, beautiful eyes
Eyes of my enchanted love
Beautiful Lady
Sweet Lady
Lady that holds my heart

Where, oh where are you?
Lady that holds my heart
She is so far
So far from me
With her she took my heart

Dance, dance my beautiful Moon
Seeing you I think of her
Beautiful Lady
Sweet Lady
Lady that holds my heart.

SP Romney has illustrated several published children’s books.
That may explain why he loves telling stories using rhyming verse.
He performs cowboy poetry at West Fest and regional competitions.
As a singer/songwriter he is currently producing his third album.
His interests include fine art painting, gardening, and bird rescue.

I want to acknowledge the work of English Author JANE TAYLOR who published “The Star” in 1806. This well-known couplet was vital to my word crafting demonstration.

This word game requires an explanation. To put it another way…
HID REEK WIRES SAND EGGS PLAN NAY SHUN:
HAIRS ANNULED CHILL DRINKS PRO MEW HAUL HALF HURT
TOILED HEW SANG WARTS WITCH SAWN LOCK DARE WARNS
ENTER RAW REGIONAL VIRGIN… BUT WELCHER ALTER GATHER DEAF RUNT.

“DUST STORE”
TWINE CURL TWIN GAL LADLE STIR
HALL LIGHT WINTER WHORE CHEW CHAR…
CUP BELOVE DOOR WHIRL SHOW WHY
LEG HAIR DEMON HINDERS CRY…
TWEEN GULL TWANG CULL LATE DULLS TAR
HOWL LYE WANT HER WEAR HUGE JAR.

Mizden Martinez is a bilingual poet and artist whose work centers on healing, resilience, and the deep beauty of human connection. She explores themes of self-love, transformation, starseed identity, and emotional rebirth, crafting poetry that speaks to the soul. Light is a recurring presence in her writing—sunlight, moonlight, and starlight often illuminate her verses, reflecting both internal clarity and cosmic connection. This theme extends into her visual art and nature photography, where light continues to guide and inspire.

Though she usually performs in English, this event marks her first time sharing her poetry publicly in her native language, Spanish—a meaningful step in her journey as both a writer and a woman reclaiming her roots.

Mizden regularly participates in local open mics and also hosts NoMicJustLove, a unique community space for poets, writers, and songwriters to share without a microphone—just heart, vulnerability, and words. She believes in the power of storytelling to heal, unite, and awaken. When she’s not writing, Mizden turns to painting and capturing the quiet wisdom of nature through her lens. Instagram/lightthroughpages

espués de Todo (Spanish)
After Everything

How is it
that after everything I have endured…
I am light?
Not by chance.
I chose it.

I peeled sorrow from my skin,
threaded hope through the cracks,
and stood still long enough
for the sun to remember me.
And then we made a deal.

While others see shadows,
I see stories.
While others brace for storms,
I marvel at the rain.

I am not a sunflower.
Not a flame.
I am sunshine —
steady, warm, awakening.
I don’t follow light. I give it.

And I want the world to know:
they are light too.

That we were never meant to dim,
but to rise, 
to shine,
and lift this earth 
one golden breath at a time.

My name is Everett Lavell Spencer. I am in African-American male born in Watts, California 1960 the nucleus of the American Civil Rights movement and white riots of 1965. The American Civil Rights movements continue to affect my daily life, my surroundings, my life choices and my emotional struggles that come from discrimination and racism towards African-Americans, Mexican Americans, Asian Americans, and South Americans, more so now than ever before.

My life’s journey from childhood to adulthood has its challenges even today. But I am still blessed by a higher power. God provides everyone gifts, you just have to find out what there are! My gifts led to my professional careers as a poet, actor, musician, model, entertainment manager, and investor.

I am currently an employee of the largest private employer in the state of Utah, Intermountain Health. My degree from Pepperdine University helped me to establish a career in finance and accounting, but I never set out to be a part of Intermountain Health history. Yet 15 years ago, my health provided me with my first experience in healthcare-based finance and I stayed. Now, I am the longest serving African-American caregiver in corporate accounting, and finance at the largest private employer in the state of Utah, Intermountain Health, because over the years I have been treated fairly.

As an actor, you may see me on your television screen. Large productions including: Yellowstone, Hallmark Channel, Disney Channel, and the Sandlot reenactment film as Mr. Myrtle. On Amazon Prime, God of Pain and local independent film production Origin.

Poem Titles

I PRAY
THE DRUM

I PRAY

I pray for my enemies
I pray for my friends
I pray for those who will betray me again
I pray for the killers, but I pray for their sins
Please pray for me
And I’ll pray for you
And together we will reside in our celestial heaven
And friendship is a priceless gift
That cannot be bought or sold
It has a value far greater
Than a mountain made of gold
Because gold is cold and heartless
It can neither See nor hear
And in times of celebration, it is powerless to cheer
It has not here to listen
No hard to understand
Anytime of compromise, it cannot reach out to helping hand
So when you ask God for that blessing called a friend
Make sure you can be a friend to the end

THE DRUM

The drum is the original instrument
Born from the womb of a mother Africa
The origin of all humanity
My name is the messenger
And I am calling to tribe

The drum tells an interesting story
The beat loud hard more so when used as instruments of communication
Like The African Gagon and dejumbe drum

God why is it such an instrument be made to speak

And then Linguistic exactitude of Yoruba language
Talented by linguist, the richest language in the world
The beat loud hard and every third of rhythm

In case you haven’t seen it
It is an intricate work of art
Crafted by African sage, long before colonization
When Africa was sad to have no voice
The drum, speaks for itself

Born and raised with a profound love for art, I began a journey where creativity became both my sanctuary and my crucible. Along the way, challenges became my greatest teachers—shaping patience in the face of imperfection and perseverance in moments of doubt. My art reflects the battles fought within and the quiet triumphs earned over time—a mirror of growth and a testament to the transformative power of passion and persistence. I’m not the same as I was—and I’m still becoming. This evolution is daily, constant, and deeply personal. @Sully_mimi

I Still Choose Me

I have fallen, like leaves in the autumn,
scattered, trampled, forgotten.
I have bent low, like branches in the storm,
yet still, I rise, reshaped, reborn.

They never chose me.
Not in the silence, not in the crowd.
But still, I choose me
again and again, proud.

I can stand bare,
my skin to the wind,
my soul to the sky,
and begin again.

At every beginning,
at every end,
I face the emptiness,
and call it friend.

This is not a sad story.
This is my story.
Grief and pain play their part,
but I hold the rhythm of my heart.

Like seasons, I repeat
winter’s ache, spring’s release,
summer’s blaze, autumn’s peace.
Again, again, I rise.
What was meant to break me,
taught me to bend.
What was meant to silence me,
taught me to sing again.

I am the pause
between the thunder and the rain.
I am the flame
that refuses to drown in pain.

I am not waiting to be found.
I am already here.
I am the echo of tomorrow,
and the voice that whispers clear:

I still choose me.
I still choose me.
I still choose me.

So let the world turn away.
Let the winds tear, let the rains play.

For even stripped,
even broken,
even alone

I still choose me.
I still choose me.
I still choose me.

And in the choosing,
I am never lost.
And in the rising,
I count the cost.
But I am worth it.

Every scar, every fight,
every sleepless night.
I am worth it.

Again and again
through endings, through beginnings,

through fire, through falling

I rise.
Until time delivers
something dear,
something unknown,
something I was always meant to own.
So let the seasons turn.
Let the storms return.
Let the world forget
I will not.
I choose me.
I choose me.
I choose me.

Montse Escobar, originally from Mexico City and a resident of Utah for the past three years, is a lawyer by profession and currently an English as a Second Language student at Salt Lake Community College. She is part of the cultural group Bomba Marile and finds in writing a way to express what spoken words fail to release.

Since she was a child, her grandfather José Luis her first teacher in the art of writing showed her the power of words. Although she stopped writing for a long time, a year ago she resumed this path as a way to heal and connect with her emotions. She writes poems and songs inspired by life, deep feelings and experiences that mark the soul.

Poem Titles

En mi memoria
No temas
Sin buscar

En mi memoria
In My Memory

I still remember that fall
in which you laughed without reason;
I usually recall your face,
enjoying that great strong wind,
delighting in those long days,
of the few joyful ones
that I shared by your side,
and in which I enjoyed
your sweet company.

I keep in my memory
all those teachings,
and the pleasant talks
of your lived memories.

Those whispered conversations,
I know they will never return,
but beautiful moments are reborn without cease, that I wish,
once more, I could hear.

Who would have imagined
that only this way I could remember you?

Sin buscar
Do Not Fear

Life is full of cycles,
some good and others bad;
with them come the changes,
as in the seasons of the year.
We all should learn
that we must not fear
the new and the changes,
just like autumn,
that teaches us to let go
of what is leaving us behind;
just like the leafless tree,
and with the wind, its leaves drift away.
Protecting us from the bad,
we do not have to step back,
so that later we may grow green again.

No temas
Without Searching

At last, I knew what love was,
and my heart forgot the pain.
Thus, without searching, it was that it came to me;
a deep feeling embraced me.
My heart was beating out of control,
her love carried me to the crucible,
like a river overflowing.
Exactly, everything began:
a February she hooked me,
with those beautiful eyes
that made me feel in the heavens.
Hope was uncovered,
she fell in love with me,
like the beautiful autumn.
Miri took possession of me,
like a spell she wrapped me,
with that radiant smile
and her constant gaze;
like the sunset, she sheltered me,
my heart understood,
that with her presence she filled everything,
and in my heartbeat it echoed
that she, with my fears, put an end.

She works as a senior technical consultant. She is a private poet who writes for the personal pressure that comes from creating. She is fascinated with unique forms of poetry.

Kiss Me Like A Leaf

Kiss me like a leaf
Being blessed by morning dew.
Hold me in your gravity
As Jupiter holds its moons.
Crave me, need me, want me,
As a hammer wants for nails.
Hunt me with your passion,
Like a dog chasing its tail.
Sculpt me with caresses;
Be an artist to my clay.
Explore my every facet.
Like a guide who knows the way.
Help me pierce the silence
Like a shrill and high-pitched scream.
Let me dance inside your head
Like a fondly cherished dream.
Kiss me like a leaf
Being blessed by morning dew.
Oh please, darling, love me
As much as I love you.

Beauty 

My thoughts are enveloped in a sea of beauty.
My eyes fall upon your visage: a true beauty.

As winds inevitably wear away the stone,
Time wears away at life’s ethereal beauty.

As a photograph snapshots a moment in time,
My memory encapsulates all your beauty.

At the end, in the final gasp of the dying
We find a melancholic moment of beauty.

In this tempestuous screaming match with my love
I’m burned by a blistering, passionate beauty.

As long as I have strength to continue forward
I will fight endlessly to protect all beauty.

Memory/Inside My Mind 

As my memory stills
Lost inside a dream
Moving as fate wills
Down the living stream
As I’m laid to rest
As I fade from view
As life leaves my chest
I will dream of you.

Inside my mind
I find you here
Our ties that bind
Will bring us near
No need to stay
You can be free
Just one more day
Here next to me.

As my memory stills inside my mind.
Lost inside a dream, I find you here.
Moving as fate wills, our ties that bind
Down the living stream, will bring us near.
As I’m laid to rest, no need to stay.
As I fade from view, you can be free.
As life leaves my chest, just one more day
I will dream of you, here next to me.

Sea Of Diamonds 

I woke to a sea of diamonds 
On a dark velvet veil 
Their beauty was a sight to behold

Because each glistening diamond
Is a story of passion
A story just begging to be told

I woke to a sea of diamonds
On a dark velvet veil
Their brilliance was unabating

Because each glistening diamond
Is a beckoning siren
Each song is truly captivating

I woke to a sea of diamonds
On a dark velvet veil
Each shimmer, a memory I’ll keep

Because each glistening diamond
Is a warm woolen blanket
As I finally drift back to sleep

Vicente Romo: fine artist and multidisciplinary designer, was born in beautiful Mexico City. His natural love for drawing and art was noticed from an early age. His interest was cultivated by his older brother during adolescence, which encouraged him to finish his degree in industrial design. For that reason, it is not surprising that some of his pieces are related to interior design, practices that the artist has professionally developed.

Another great influence is that of Mexican icon, Ramon Valdiosera Berman creator of the “Mexican pink” with whom he worked for more than ten years in mural painting. Vicente studied for a master’s degree in Digital Creative Design, which allowed him to teach at various Universities in Mexico City since 2006. His discipline has allowed him to promote and spread his passion for art and design in new generations.

A true admirer of architecture and Renaissance painting, fascinated by nature, how he represents himself to the world through his gaze and how it has been observed; this is how his attraction of human anatomy came about. The images that Vicente captures within his work are only a small part of a great intrinsic story that opens a window for a broad dialogue with the viewer allowing for a connection to exist. He feels that the artistic exchange between the story that narrates through the image generates a direct connection, which makes them equal and at the same time, different. @artistvjc and www.artistvjc.com

Poem Titles

GRITO SILENCIOSO
ANHELANDOTE
LAMENTO DE MEDIA NOCHE

GRITO SILENCIOSO
SILENT CRY

I feel
That I no longer know how to write what I used to write
On the leafy branch of illusion where the bird alighted
Where it fed
Today there is nothing left

On the branch only the shadow
of the bird alights
It weighs like the night

The nakedness dressed itself in all the gazes
How to undress from the gaze?
Do you love what you see or what your gaze hides?

So many colors on the canvas of your skin
So many paints spilled in your kisses
The memory of your love staining
The courtyard of my loneliness
My song has become a silent scream
Free fall inside the cage
Watercolor washed away by the rain of my tears

The excess of perfection in the world
Excess of plastic
Excess of appearances
Excess of expectations

I am not him
I know what I am
I am who I will be

I am not liquid love
Never close or fleeting
Never ephemeral

I am like this
This is how you will think of me
This is how you will write about me
This is how you will lose me.

ANHELANDOTE
LONGING FOR YOU 

The ink has turned white
And today I write about the body of the night

My writing is caresses in space
In the space of your body
that will never arrive

I would like to write until I restore the whiteness to the paper
Return to the beginning
When words were transparent
and you could see through them
See my feelings
See my thoughts.
Longing for you

I would like to write as I did when I was a child
I would like to write as I did when writing was caressing
I would like to write as I did when writing was growing and dreaming
I would like to write words as I did when writing was stars that lit up your face and stole your heart.

Today, writing is dying
Dying in words
Kissing loneliness

You no longer light up the inside of my night
My words grow in the night
Searching for dawn

Words drowned in the waters of speech
Words drowned among the waves that inhabit
Words that inhabit the cold skin of your silence
I remember the writing of invented nights
Words invented in my imprisoned chest.

LAMENTO DE MEDIA NOCHE
MIDNIGHT LAMENT 

Come in.
Open the door, stop searching for the disguise of your nakedness.
Go deep inside.
Turn off the light.
Count the heartbeats of darkness.

You know that darkness is the shadow of all my words
Broken words
Unfulfilled words
Unspoken words
Unwritten words
Unspit words
Words that are dead before they are born

On the table
There is a notebook
The notebook is my life
Open the notebook but don’t write anymore
Enter into what you don’t write
Enter into what will not be
Enter into what never was

Torn stories, like its broken pages
Pasts already erased
But never forgotten
Notes of pending matters that never concluded
Wrinkles and stains
That are still present, reminding us of yesterdays

Sink into the pool of not saying
Moisten with your lips
The kisses I once sent
The lips of the air, remember it well
Drown in my tears
In the gaze of my being

Enter in my pain
Enter in my loneliness
Enter in my darkness

But don’t forget the way out
And better yet, see me from outside
Outside my mind
Outside my being
From outside the window.

I am a physician, dancer, and community organizer with a deep commitment to cultural awareness, social justice, and healing through music and dance. As the Executive Director of the non profit organization Bomba Marilé, I have made it my mission to promote the preservation and appreciation of the Puerto Rican ancestral traditions of bomba. I use poetry, music, and dance as a tool for fostering an inclusive space in which individuals can connect with their heritage, heal through movement, and build solidarity. In every aspect of my work—whether in my medical practice or my artistic endeavors—I strive to create spaces where people of all backgrounds can come together, share stories, and empower one another. I believe that by nurturing cultural understanding, amplifying marginalized voices, and using the arts as a vehicle for social change, we can build more uplifting and connected communities.
Facebook/miriam.padilla
Instagram/docmiriampadilla

Bee The Star

Every fall people flock to the sun flower festivals
looking to basque in the waves of yellow and burgandy.
They dress up in their weekend best,
Waiting for the right light to capture the most social media worthy pictures
But little do they know, behind the scenes
this is actually the highlight event of the year, for the bees that is

Red petal Carpet rolled out,
their sequined wings glistening in the sunlight
All wanting to show off before they go on vacation for the winter.
Even the queens show up to grace the scene with their amber jewels

You can expect awards to be given out for the
“Most honey collected over the season”, or
“Strongest protector of the Queen”
and even “The bee who travelled the longest for honey”.
They go up to receive their awards,
landing on the gold plated sunflower petals, ready to take center stage.
They know they’ve made it big when the flashes of photography outshine the sun that’s going down in the background

Those present enjoy a halftime entertainment,
with bees doing acrobatic jumps from flower to flower,
tossing pollen into the air like confetti at a new year’s eve party

And showtime guests don’t go home empty handed,
they get to take home some sunflower seeds, freshly roasted by the ending summer sun

There’s excitement, adventure, danger, and romance all interwoven in one evening From the occasional hero bee that directs the lost girl out of the corn maze,
to the working bee who crashes the party to steal sweets and take back home to thier family. There’s so much more going on than meets the eye.
So next time you think of swatting a bee that is landing on you, stop and think, they might just be signing you their autograph.

Autumn Storm 

When autumn winds begin to dance,
and the falling leaves speak of a trance
you know Oya is coming near
To bless the end of this present year

She sings to you within the beeze
and guides the winds that clean the trees,
A shift is coming to those who hear
Her spirit army will soon appear

She’ll bring the storm you desperately need
to change to path just let her lead
She’ll lift her sword against your enemy
Thunder will roar and bring the remedy

Ride out on horseback to fight for truth
her flame will shine where you find proof
She’ll send the bats to eat the flies
and quench the smell from putrid lies

So bring the eggplant, plums, and wine
and lay them on rust colored vines
adorn yourself with copper bracelets,
make sure to count them, one to nine

Give thanks to her, this warrior queen
who watches over those unseen
She guards the gate of life and death
but with destruction brings new breath

So when the leaves begin to burn
and ice starts kissing the river’s edge
walk counter clockwise to seek a turn
She’ll stand by you, this is her plegde

We wont drive straight

We drive through the mountains with the windows down,
Leaving the expectations of those in town
The sun setting in the dust we leave behind
Your hand in mine, our hearts aligned

The gold and crimson leaves falling over us Our
red flannel shirts stained with pink lip gloss
“Love Wins” sticker displayed proudly in the back
The trunk full of boxes ready to pack

Weaving the curves of stories only we can tell
October winds howling, ready to yell,
That its heard our story in the rustle of leaves,
and that the mountains support our whispered dreams.

The trees are shedding without shame, daring
to stand bare, a flame with no frame You grip
the wheel defiantly owning the road
they told us we couldn’t be here, a princess, with no toad

We were expected to keep our love out of sight,
fearing that others might cringe and get uptight
But we cannot drive straight, we will not drive straight
we will caress each curve and follow our fate

We are mountain lions and soft lips
We honor the rebellion decorating our hips
Our laugh is a war cry wrapped in joy
And whether you like it or not, our lives we will enjoy

We are rage in love’s purest form
We are a revolution ready to transform
We’ve got mountains to climb
and won’t waste any more time

So let society clutch its pearls
as they limit girls from exploring the world
But we will stand strong in our destiny from above
In endless, fearless, and boundless love.

Originally from Chiapas, Mexico, Vicky Lowe K’ulub is a multidisciplinary artist and educator based in Salt Lake City. Her work spans painting, handcrafted paper collage, natural dyes, and backstrap weaving. Through these practices, she honors Indigenous knowledge and diasporic memory. As program director for Born from Corn and Weaving Memories at Artes de México en Utah, she develops culturally rooted workshops that empower community storytelling. Vicky began learning backstrap weaving from her mother, reclaiming a family tradition nearly lost in her generation. Shaped by self-taught practice and ancestral connection, her art is an act of resistance, healing, and belonging. Her creative practice also extends into poetry and storytelling, weaving together threads of memory, land, and community.

Entre tejidos
Inerwoven

My grandma didn’t speak Spanish, I didn’t speak Tseltal.

One of the deepest aches
is a conversation denied a voice.

I’d arrive at her house,
see her weaving, tending her little chicks.
With a hug, I’d say, “I love you, grandma,”
she’d hug me back, and say: “Na Klan Mamita.”

When my baby was born,
her first great-grandchild, my grandma wove him a huipil and a shawl,
with lines of blue and white, as delicate as her hands.

A large rebozo,
to carry him close,
to shield him from the cold, to wrap him in warmth,
a woven embrace.

My grandma didn’t speak Spanish, I never learned Tseltal

And still, there are no words more beautiful
than those woven,
embroidered thread by thread, crafted just for you.

My grandma didn’t speak Spanish,
my mother didn’t teach me Tseltal.

They forced on us another language, a shame that wasn’t ours.
But at her loom, my grandma wove her resistance.

She wove her voice into her loom. Each thread a memory,
each pass a story, each weaving a legacy,
each rebozo an embrace.

My mother couldn’t teach me Tseltal,
but she taught me how to weave. I tie the loom around my waist,
and I feel her close to me.

I wove her a hug in a rebozo, I hear her voice telling me: “Na Klan Mamita,”
Interwoven love gently whispering: “I miss you so much, abuelita.”

Gabriel Martínez is a native of the Zapotec nation of the central valley region of Oaxaca, Mexico. In search of new horizons, however, at the age of 14 he undertook the migratory journey to the United States of America, a place that was said to be a utopia. Without the mastery of the Spanish or English languages, he had to imitate what was around him.

Over time, he adapted to the new country, prioritizing education, which also served as a means of staying away from the ghetto and its aftermath. Subsequently, he attended California State University at Northridge where he studied broadcast journalism. Among his professional jobs has been a journalist for radio, press and television.

Today, he serves as a narrator for the Guelaguetza festivals that take place throughout the United States. He is also a photographer and an independent publisher.

He has several recognitions from the city of Los Angeles, California, from different Mexican consulates and the International Center for Journalists. In addition, he is the recipient of the CaSa Award, founded by the late master Francisco Toledo, a prize for literary creation in the Zapotec language of the Valley of Oaxaca.
Facebook/gabriel.martinez

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Magical town, where people celebrate a carnaval during a funeral, Province whose unique philosophy is to first look after the townspeople before caring for a personal ego.

The Americans are a mosaic of thoughts, language and color of the skin that in the eyes of the Mother Earth all of us are equal Humans.

A cartoon character sneaked out the pages and chapter from Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince. He is evil. He is selfish. He is a vile lair. He is a narcissist. He is disguised as grandeur. He is aporophobia frighten of the less privilege of the society. He is anti-brown. His talent is precarious that he thinks by denying your freedom of speech is his win, by destroying your economy is his win, by denying you your hard worked social service is his win. He is coming after you. His feast is to eat you alive as he is swallowing the spirit of my brown brothers. He is a cartoon character who sneaked out the pages and chapters of Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince. He is coming after you and your country that you once pride. He is a fugitive is on a manhunt, For God Sake, has anybody seen him? DO SOMETHING…

Gloria Arredondo, Mexican author and artist. Woman’s rights advocate, social communicator and passionate poet for truth. Holds a B.S. in Mechanical Engineering and Minor in Chicano Studies. 

As a young immigrant, the oldest child, and the first one to learn English, Gloria’s family dependent on her language skills and advocacy became a way of living for her. Fourteen years ago, she had to advocate for herself and went through divorce. Since then, she has written more than two hundred magazine/newspaper articles, six books, an audiobook, monologues, has contributed in five international and five national poetry anthologies, and was a radio host for ‘Solo Para Mujeres’ radio program. She’s the only Utah journalist that has provided Spanish-language written coverage of the Sundance Film Festival for the past six years.

Gloria mostly educates and denounces issues related to human rights and how different social systems work in Utah.

Gloria’s work as a social communicator led her to become a first responder in the Latinx community. She assists victims of crimes that don’t speak English, from the initial 911 phone call to holding space for the victims in court. She has also taught classes to courts staff along with her mentor Brandy Farmer, so that the courts are more culturally sensitive to the needs of victims. Gloria has also built a strong network with people of different communities and lawmakers that hold the power in assisting and making changes that improve the lives of victims.

Gloria’s greatest accomplishment is to have raised, mostly on her own, two hardworking human beings that already stand for what’s right. 

YOU CALL ME ROSE

You call me fragrant rose,
clothed with sharp thorns…
but really, they are sharp scabs,
of betrayals and lies.
 
It is not my wish to hurt or harm you; on the contrary, I would like to caress you, hold you, and perfume you, among petals that fade on your lips, and, with my pistil, hydrate you with the nectar of life.
 
I would enchant you with a sprinkle of pollen dust And, already under my spell, I would make you mine.
With you, my fertile spring I would share, and then the hot summer that I long for.
 
But while you lived the peace of autumn far from me … Something I’d like to give you, make for you, and be allowed to do for you, I would become an orchid or a daisy for you, but I can’t! Make my spines blunt? I don’t know how.

My Autumn

I was once a fragrant rose
with the morning dew
when it touched my petals
I exuded an erotogenic potion.

Beautiful buds sprouted from me
and very sharp thorns.
I didn’t know how to smooth the sharp points or to become an orchid.

I didn’t live up to anyone’s expectations and I stopped wanting to be a carnation.
I loved my spring then,
from my pistil, ovaries, and leafy stem.

One day my thorns fell,
my buds dropped off,
gales blew some petals away
and my stem began to lose its freshness.

I no longer emit the fresh fragrance of spring; my autumnal essence is an elixir, composed of skill, wisdom, and detachment, but not everyone can use it.

I don’t know what will become of my winter.
I know the freezing nights well.
Being alone without the Little Prince doesn’t matter to me:
I’ll still be a fragrant rose.

Oh Utah, immaculate bride,
Dressed in silky layers of ice,
Your delicate frozen veil
Mesmerizes those passing by.

Alone at any season
And at any of your peaks,
The sound of silence
Fills my soul with freedom.

Our heartbeats become one
When I enter your womb
And my bare feet come in contact
With your sacred red sand.

Your spring is invigorating,
The tranquil rivers call upon
Those who need healing;
You bring lost souls to life.

You wear perfectly
Purple, orange, and brown,
And the exquisite perfume
Of pumpkin, apples, and spice.

Your valleys have been polluted;
Humanity can be cruel, unjust,
Divisive and poisonous
Sometimes it gets to me.

I come to you like a child
To lie down on your lap;
The sound of your silence
Is my  perfect lullaby.

CHAOS

As a child, I paid tribute to a tricolor flag that was etched into my heart And as a teenager, I pledged allegiance to another flag – less colorful but one that promised a better life Insured by Liberty and justice for all.
That’s all my American dream was.

I sang the anthem of my new homeland
and followed its laws to the letter,
waiting for years, with hope,
for an official certificate of belonging.
Though I never pretended to be a white woman for my umbilical cord lies buried in my native land.

My American dream suddenly disintegrated when, one day, it became a crime to exist in my skin color.
And they said I was less—
because of that, and because
I am a woman.
My mind, my body, and my spirit
were crushed by the weight
of this chaotic, alternate reality:
of lies, of hate, and extravagant promises, wrapped in a flag bearing the slogan:
“Make America Great Again.”

It all began like a tilt-a-whirl
We were spun around with one crisis after another:
wildfires, fallen planes, vital systems collapses, budget cuts, mass deportations…
Due process, history, and basic logic were ignored, and one day, illegally, the Gulf of Mexico no longer was.

The actions of this government
are toxic to mental health:
an intentional gaslighting.
From ridiculous tariffs to international bullying, racism, classism, colorism, and every other “-ism” reigned.
And what terrifies me more
is the lack of empathy and humanity
from those in power—
those who act outside every legal
and constitutional principle.

United States of America;
there’s not even a shadow or a dream left of what you once were.
Justice feels farther and farther away.
Hiding behind religion,
you’ve called for human hunts and
committed crimes against humanity
in the name of racial purity.