Poetry: Seen and Unseen

Seen + Unseen by Zion

Zion with Dani preparing to hit the pinata at Azeb's unbirthday party

You see a canvas and you see a mirror

With one thing you'll be able to see what you've created with your ability, and the other, you'll see a reflection of the outside

Yes you can change things, but you can only change so much

You can't hide what you really want, what you need, what you crave

Welcome to Veracruz, México where you'll find an amazing aquarium, gorgeous beaches and nice locals

You won't expect to see graffiti, Sewer leaks, and mosquitos

You'll find the people to look slightly different but the true colors and cultures go deeper than the skin

Tales of Sun gods, warriors, indigenous and afro-descendent Mexicans are slowly disintegrating


Veracruz wants to be set free. That's what's unseen.

Statue of El Negro Yanga in Yanga, Veracruz

Yanga's sonnet by Jordan Chaney

There are no black people in paradise.
The sun shines on everything all the same.
Papayas, all people, palm trees, beans and rice. 
Curls are welcomed here as heavenly mane.

The history books are void of slave meat.
The town's mouths are ripe fields of sugar cane.
Street vendor has a story to tell me;
All chains were broken free in Yanga's name.

TVs, heavy books have erased my line
It is nice, no good or bad references
My home paints me with big lips and no spine
This bold land 'least lends a lil reverence

Machete tongues have chopped me all to shreds.
...the thick of me can't be conquered by death.

Las Raices Invisibles (The Invisible Roots) by Reagan Jackson

Statue of a woman at the Museum of Anthropology in Xalapa

Here I am

seen and unseen

take my picture, but not my name

brown skin, white teeth but disembodied

not a shadow

   but an icon

      an idea

         a postcard

smile and wave,

but do you see me

beyond la negra

you think describes me...

morena, chaparra

am I so simply defined

by the shape of my hips,

the rythm you assume resides there.

Am I a line from a song

a half eaten melody

que te tiene tumbado

Africana, Cubana, Dominicana, Colombiana...

Would it matter if I too were Americana

If I too were Mexicana, prieta pero paisana?

Why am I foreign to your eyes

when family lies between us

in blood ties

more than skin

the shape of your nose and eyes

your pyramids and mine

our ancestors intertwined

etched into the faces of rock

carved before the time when we forgot 

that there is so much more than 

skin deep.

So sure, take my picture

its yours to keep,

un recuerdo

of what is left 

unsaid and unseen

and yet is so very

visible, tangible, indelible, undeniably 

your DNA in mine. 

Eyerusalem

The Fifth Sense by Eyerusalem
I am on foreign land.
My senses are out of control.
Touch: my phone, held in my hands, or easy access in case I need to snap a picture
and the thick blanket of humid muffling me over my layer of sweat
Taste: the burst of flavor in my tacos dorados,
dipped in red sauce
Green if I am feeling a bit brave.
Hear: the beautiful language of Espanol.
The honks and beeps of the drivers on the street,
the words Buenos dias trails behind me
 as I walk past a group of Mexicans
every new word I hear, becomes a new word I've learned
and an opportunity for it to roll of my own tongue
Smell:
The intoxicating scent of sewage overcomes my nose
Fortunately, I have crossed the street and am now
inhaling the drool-worthy aroma of fresh enchiladas con pollo.
These four senses are working hard.
But there was something about the fifth sense,
sight.
Sight is helping me put two and two together
It helps me embrace and appreciate
the beauty of Veracruz.
I see a random man
helping an old woman bag her fruits.
I see color.
Everywhere.
Colors.
Patterns.
Everywhere.
My eyes are moving around. Trying to take everything in. All the faces,
all the colors,
all the statues,
buildings, architectures
everything.
But...
Where is everything else?
Where is everyone else?
Where is El Chapo and all the drug cartels
that CNN warns us about?
Where are the dangerous people?
Where are the burritos?
Where are all the Afro-Mexicans
 that my world history textbook told me about?
Are they not here?
Has El Chapo and the cartels been replaced by
love and care?
Are the dangerous people hiding away due to inferiority?
Have the Afro-Mexicans disintegrated due to hostility?
Maybe they don't exist
here in
Veracruz