Olmecas, Mixtecos and dust cross their caminos in circles with the silence a constant in our walks. The silence is in our bones, build our spirits in our silence stories.
The silence and the dust is in our wombs, is in las tumbas of our traumas, today is in my house.
Your dead father se ha convertido en tu silencio your space.
We are silence again and dust in our nostrils, my head is dust.
The dust is our silencio de siglos como Mixtecos, somos los silencios.
Your dust papa is covering my silence, my voice reveals to be silence.
“Why to reveal to the sacred silence?”
No answer. No words. Las palabras, los silencios the dust los entretejo en mi trabajo?
Trenzando sigo en silencio in my roots y mi voz con los Olmecas y Mixtecos cruzando los caminos en constantes círculos.
Storyteller Mayuli Bales was born in Oaxaca, Mexico and lives in Minnesota.
Note to reader: The original poem in English has words in Spanish. For the reader’s reference, italics indicate the words written in Spanish in the original.
