Years of weaving, folding, and sewing
Aged hands created a sea of needles rowing
The women of my abuelo's pueblo created cloth
They passed down a ring of colors,
Each and every hue ran to the north
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Dyes incorporated shades of pink, blue, and green
Colors I wished to always see
I didn't know every nail that pulled on yellow strings
But I felt connected to the land and their sunset rings
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I know I feel different being in the states
But I am bold because of the gifts they make
With blouses called huipils, I wear them to festivals
Even with dwindling serotonin, and the battles I face
Whenever I see clothing of rainbows, mouths produce euphoric chemicals
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I dance with the ghosts of ancestors and future generations
I wonder if I can fit in, being shades on the ace spectrum
Every night that falls, I grapple with the grays of frustration
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I know that deep red blood keeps my aorta flowing
The wrinkled hands that still hold me,
Encourage my being to keep going
Whenever I wear white flowing tops
I feel that I can create again, even when I want to stop
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