Soon after my birth
the ghost of my great grandmother came to visit me in the cradle.
She floated in surrounded by light and feathers
After her visit ghosts just kept coming to me
or did I follow them?
They call me in whispers & around corners
They rush around me
They throw things & comb their hair in the mirror, dogs see them.
My first camera was made of hard black plastic.
The squeeze of the shutter had a clunk of a sound.
The catch of an image is a ghost hunt ~ the walk between the veil of the worlds
My soul is the press of a camera & I have danced with ghosts.
Poems fall through, they fall into my head.
I dream that we are made of star dust, bone, blood & heart muscle.
This life is a death dance.
The ground writhes under us with the bones of the dead.
I am a mummy in Peru, sitting in a cave dead for centuries.
Once a young girl now dead forever,
My hands eternally fixed in prayer.
Now my hands are dancing, making shapes
They are making mudras
My hands are making tortillas.
My feet are pounding the ground forever, my hips are rolling back and forth,
My skirt makes circles as I spin.
© Jennifer Esperanza 10/01
excerpt from “September 11 The Santa Fe Stories”
Monologue Workshop & Performance