Two Poems by Shonté Daniels
Even the Moon Coyolxauhqui’s body was found, like Sandra Bland, like Rekia Boyd, like Jessica Hernandez, guiding the sea of stars, leading the ocean back and forth, endlessly. Coyolxauhqui knew the dangers of violence and man, begged her mother to not give light to those who tug at our elbows like loose seams of string they can unravel. Women dying by the hands of men who envy a woman’s power, that is history, a long Tuesday night, the tide rising. Even the moon was born from a woman’s severed head, her angry heart still rolling. La Malinche Goes to My High School La Malinche transferred to my high school, and already the white kids mock her when her tongue stumbles on English words. They tell her to say teacher, say homework, say fuck. Say it all again in Nahuatl. I warn her about the boy who calls my hair straw because it won’t bend and flow like water. La Malinche counters with the kid who calls her Indian, calls her nuts and berries. Keep your dark skin to yourself, I tell her, so she squeezes herself into whiteness. She hikes her hair up into a high bun,... Read More