THERE IS A THROAT ON MY WOUND THERE IS A WOUND ON MY THROAT AND I CALL HER SISTER AND I CALL HER SISTER PART 1 PART 2
which is to say that I wanted to be outside of my body; a book about trauma
& the thing is that only in Amerikkka are ghosts see-through things
told me that embodiment is a way of acknowledging that all the stuff we know
that exist in movies, only in Amerikkka are ancestors dead things, gone things
our body knows first & that even if I know something in my spirit, my body will know
my ancestors aren’t dead they are waiting to hold me, hold me like a dagger
otherwise unless I talk to it; so i said a prayer into the space between my tits
or a wand; they are waiting for me to help them make vengeance;
the space where the folds are tightening with age & i said a prayer like a hum
when i was little my mom told me i’d meet my ancestors
& told it that it could forget or, better, that it could stop remembering so actively
as ghosts when i turned 13 like all the other women in my family; little little
that it didn’t need to think that every fight had to be a fight to the death, that it was
i’d walk around with my eyes closed in the dark because i wanted to see
kill or be killed (tho sometimes it is!), but that fights with lovers and friends could
nothing, NO ESTOY LISTA i’d yell into a room & they would fall through the floor
just be wishes or desires; so i told the space between my tits that i would
& because I came to Amerikkka where ghosts are for play & can’t do anything
hold it so it could cry and remember that i was here for it; i rubbed the space with
but boo, I didn’t see anything & I turned 14 & i turned 15
my shoulders pulled all the way back so that i was the shape of a harp & I slipped
& I turned 28 & I turned 37 & didn’t see fucking anyone & and now i am begging
my hand under my shirt & rubbed & I hummed so loud that the seat vibrated
for a ghost to possess me; i lay in my bathtub screaming into the steamy water
& my earrings twisted & danced & I hummed until my throat was sore &
TAKE ME NOW!! inviting Abuela Chilin, the one who read tea leaves & refused to
the spot between my tits changed color, something plummier & translucent & I
take anyone’s name, to possess me; she might have the courage
hummed so hard grains of sand fell from my body & the soreness became a whirling
to settle into this body & pick up a weapon & if i were you, i’d sleep
hole inside me so mucky I could reach inside and grab them by the ankles
with my mouth wide open so if one of them gets the urge they know you
my sisters
are ready for whatever needs to happen next
Jennif(f)er Tamayo is a performer, poet and essayist. She is the author of the poetry collections [Red Missed Aches, Read Mistakes, Red Mistakes, Read Missed Aches] (2011), YOU DA ONE (2017) and to kill the future in the present (2018). JT has received fellowships from the Cynthia Woods Mitchell Center for the Arts, The Arts Research Center, Hemispheric Institute, and CantoMundo. Her work has been staged at The Brooklyn Museum, BAMPFA, Midtown Arts & Theatre Center Houston, and La Mama Theatre among others. Currently, JT lives and works on Ohlone and Patwin lands and is a PhD candidate in Performance Studies at the University of California Berkeley. Her research explores how contemporary Black and Indigenous poets use vocal and sonic practices to counter-narrate histories of colonial violence.