Lydia Flores

Mother Earth


Thick lips, mouth heavy as ocean

tongue lashing at the shore.

Life and death lies in the power

of the tongue. Let no silence

walk your waters or part your sea

hurricane Sandy your heart

break the levees of this city.

Whisper your loud and

speak your quiet; your whole being

to crack the bottom of their ships

that float against your dark sea.

waving body of song forever to sing.


Mother, hair of earth

wild lions of Kenya.

Like a tornado wind,

bellow of your confidence

curled, coiled and kinky

to break the teeth of taming.

Show them this is your

jungle, even if brick and mortar

wears the crown of gentrification

cement can’t abstain a rose’s

growth from concrete. The net of

your nappy hair catching the despotic “-isms”

in the knots they tried to comb through.


You. The garden of Eden

within barbed wire of labels,

head of sunflower, stand tall.

Honeysuckle female climbing out

the marginalization cage.

With your tendrils of freedom

coil over their boundaries.

Your body is an ever thriving vine.


You are a carcass of wild plains

Hips of the valley and the

craters of your canyons

will not apologize for their

stay. Head of rising sun

birth of mountains

from your bosom

you are the reason

for their tranquil treasured views

for you carry the stretch marks

of their sins, a canvas of impressionism.

They may refuse to say your name

and deny the beauty that still

came from the brush of pain

But you are heaven on earth.


Girl, body of a thousand hymns

Night in your skin eyes like a north star

shadows dance across the underground

railroad your heart holds. There is freedom

in your bones. Queen of the dark, they may

not bow to your skin but you wear

the crown of light. Sumi ink across

the white pages of their majority, you

are the art of a thousand galleries. Wear

your black, your woman as the sky wears

its blazing colors because everyone is

looking and admiring even if they refuse to

admit it. You are the heart of sunrise,

muting the cicadas that hum their

insistent song of sameness.


You. Body of the earth, mouth

of lion. Skin of night, glory

of Kenya gleaming in the sunlight.

Woman keep warring, keep roaring

and take back your body from the

caves of the world that try to paint

your skin with the ink of stigma.


Lydia Flores (LC) is a writeographer from New York City. Some of her of publications include Snapdragon Journal, Downtown Brooklyn Journal, The Poeming Pigeon, and Atlantis Magazine. She was also the 2016 recipient of Esther Hyneman Award for Poetry at LIU Brooklyn.

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