Two Poems by Monique Espinoza

The Theory of Walls

~after Dr. Joshua Bennet’s interview with The Poetry Gods

A physics student told him that we are
“too big to be considered by a wall”
(as an explanation to why we aren’t able to walk
through them if we are only particles.)
Which made me think of my son
And how sometimes I am the only thing he
I am his base,
his knowledge.
Everything he knows
I probably showed him first.
My body formed his home before he knew
that I was just like him,
part of a lineage.
I was not walls
or ceilings to be broken.
I was not a home.

Although my warmth says differently
Home is relative.

Why doesn’t our government employ more
If they did, they would know
that “people are too big to be considered by a
They don’t
they don’t care.
Because there are still
walls being built
and camps being filled.
And I wonder if home is relative?
If a barefoot brown child
has found a body to warm it’s own.
If they found a soul to connect to

amidst the cold concrete confines.

My nana used to crochet blankets
and gift them.
My sister hung one on her dorm room wall.
I never learned.
One of many skills I didn’t take the time to inherit.
I wish I could crochet,
warmth for people.
A safe place.
A home.

There are emergency clothing drives within the
church walls,
Asylum seekers
from the borderlands.
And other
that were kidnapped from their people.
I donate blankets
that are not crocheted.
I could only give what I was given.
My ancestors sacrificed for
me to be gifted

Why do these children look familiar?
Am I seeing myself in their faces?
A look into a realm
where my grandparents stayed
on the other side of the border that limited them.
Are they my sangre?
Not a border issue.
Not folklore.
Not history.
Are they mirrors
of our self destruction?

Water Memory/Machismo

(for the boys that should cry)

little Brown Boy/ trips/ on a rock/ falls
scrapes his face
Tears break through the mugre
on his flushed cheeks
forming rivers–
like the ones our ancestors bathed in

wipe your tears
don’t cry…!

Brown Man/ Hides/ from Himself/ suppressed emotions
flow through his veins
deep like the rivers our ancestors
cleansed their hands in
Blood blending with the water
Fists still clenched
Tears hidden on their wet faces

Monique Espinoza is a Latina mother, teaching artist, and poet from Phoenix, Arizona. Her poetry explores sexuality, mental health, motherhood, love and loss. As a teaching artist with the youth poetry program, Project Lit, Monique uses her writing as a catalyst to connect with her community. She is also the producer and host of Unlocked, a \ monthly open mic in South Phoenix. Monique hopes to continue to give back to her community by creating spaces for people to use writing and performance as tools in their healing.