Bodex Creative Studies Fall 2022

There is no good end with a bad beginning: The Dragon Lady in the Borderlands/La Frontera.

By Greg Moore

“I quote a fool who spoke concerning the Nahuatl, the Mestiza, the Mulatto.”

The words were pulled from anonymity, spoken for our benefit by Dolores Huerta, our future royalty, our own Dragon Lady. “I offer that to enter life,” Dolores continued, “as a despot is no better than being born into slavery; however, there is the brief happiness of the former, the pig fattened for the table, whereas there is no moment of happiness for the slave.”

She said that boldly yet calmly. Her words were staccato and heavy like the enchantress’ flute before a small group of Asian, Latin@, Native, White, and Black young adults. We waved a friendly ‘goodbye’ to Reggie, who led the convoy of jeeps that had not long dropped us off. The caravan revved up and pulled off. The sun rays gilded around her as if presenting a goddess as the group walked down a foot trail cut into the sloped peninsula. The trail curved down the slope between jutting rocks and over dislodged pebbles. The path was narrow, permitting only single-file progress. Just above it, on the green grass where folks picnicked, there were ceramic benches and a telescope that faced the ocean, dark and blue, framing the dizzying tide pools that swirled and plashed at the peninsula’s base.

Volcán de odio

By Claudia Duran

Farm Worker’s Almanac

By Jason Robinson

Co-op Without Grapes, Reno, 1976

                        The bins                                                          are empty

                        today                                                               skins of wood

                        stacked                                                            cedar slats

why mother                    why can’t                   we have                            grapes

the green eyes                the vines                      the bunches                      gone

don’t burst                     holding worlds            our hands                          won’t touch

our tongues                    untasted                       sore                                   wanting

                      child, people               picking                       our delicacies

                        are dying                     in the dust                   the fields grow

                        over them                    their lives                    mean more

                        than our                       hunger                         the people

                                    must be                                   seen

                                    together                                   we all hold

                                    this food                                  this earth

come see the land

come see the people

come see the roots

come see the whole

come see the soil

come see the seeds

come see the toil

come see

the produce

  our lives

beyond

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