Desert women know
about survival.
Fierce heat and cold
have burned and thickened
our skin. Like cactus
we've learned to hoard,
to sprout deep roots,
to seem asleep, yet wake
at the scent of softness
in the air, to hide
pain and loss by silence,
no branches wail
or whisper our sad songs
safe behind our thorns.
Don't be deceived.
When we bloom, we stun.
"Desert Women" by Pat Mora
is reprinted with permission from
the publisher of My Own
True Name (Arte Público Press,
University of Houston, 2000).
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