Cloud Delfina Cardona
on the state’s tongue
before i laid flat on my back at the tattoo shop and heard “Stars” by Hum for the first time, nineteen years after its release
before my mother discovers Paloma Picasso is her signature scent
before my father finds solace in the encyclopedia’s delicate pages at the Alice Public Library
before C smokes weed out of a Gatorade bottle, while Sofia plays “Death of a Disco Dancer” by The Smiths on her iPhone
before my tia moved out of the empty house on West Summit Avenue, where we lit everyone’s birthday candles
before i was assigned to spreading masa against the husk
there was Porvenir
a town in west texas where texan rangers, local ranchers, and u.s. soldiers
murdered fifteen Mexican-American men and boys in the middle of the night
a retaliation after the killings at Brite Ranch on Christmas Day 1917
they looked at their nice shoes and thought them bandits
just enough to justify their murder to their bosses
after the massacre, Manuel Moralez’s sixth child was born that night
after the massacre, Juan Flores waited 80 years to tell his family how he bore witness to his father’s murder that night
after the massacre, Captain J.M. Fox reported that his men “unfortunately had to kill any number of Mexican bandits”
after the massacre, none of the rangers were found guilty
after the massacre, one hundred and forty residents fled Porvenir for good
after the massacre, these widows fell in love with other men and women
after the massacre, these rangers were let go and then rehired
after the massacre, these widows never fell in love again
after the massacre, the children of survivors danced
after the massacre, the children of survivors harmed themselves
after the massacre, the children of the children of the children of the Porvenir survivors run along the aisles of the Texas State Capitol on the 100th anniversary
after the massacre, we will never cease to remind you of what happened that night
after the massacre, we find new reasons to keep going
after the massacre, we know that Texas is forever haunted, just like the rest of this goddamn country
Cloud Delfina Cardona (she/they) is an artist, writer, and book cover designer from San Antonio, Texas. She is the author of What Remains, winner of the 2020 Host Publications Chapbook Prize, and the past is a jean jacket (Hub City Press), winner of the Naomi Shihab Nye First Book of Poetry Award.Their poetry can be found in The Offing, Prairie Schooner, The Boiler, The Los Angeles Review, and more. She is the co-founder of Infrarrealista Review, a literary nonprofit that publishes
Texan voices. She moonlights as DJ Mexistentialism.