maíz

by Michaela Coyoli Basman Monterrubio

A version of this poem WAS FIRST PUBLISHED IN PRINT IN DECEMBER 2020, IN ISSUE TWO

A part of Michaela Coyoli Basman Monterrubio’s embroidered tortilla serviette book.

preamble:

i am living in times of war. a new kind of war. a war whose primary enemy is humanity, where what matters, what rules and commands, is the law of the market. it is a war of destruction, depopulation, reconstruction and rearrangement, where a global order seeks to colonize and exploit. where indigenous ways of life, and local and regional markets are destroyed in order to settle global corporations whose agendas always claim to bring more jobs, more prosperity—a leap into the “future.” in this globalized world, borders vanish for corporations, but grow taller and tougher for marginalized humans. this is a war, like many others, that dispossesses people of their homes, their values, their vitality. this war is fully armed and anyone who dares to get in the way goes missing, gets murdered, or becomes subject to the macabrely designed prison system. and this terror hangs over all our heads, at all times. because we've been taught that there is the legitimate violence of the military and illegitimate violence of the people.

i stand in the midst of this war, looking down at my hands, wondering if i carry enough to do something. fortunately, i carry a maize cob, armed with 200-odd seeds, a couple bean sprouts, and a squash. maíz is a teacher and guide through my attempts to critique and resist the oppressive, violent systems set in place in the world. we have ancient stories that have travelled from the belly of my homelands to the furthest stretches of land across abya yala. the seeds and the stories have been adopted and adapted as far north as haudenosaunee territory, across bodies of water on taíno lands, and as far south as mapuche territory. we have shared these stories, mouth to mouth, belly to belly, they have fed us and watched us grow just as we have fed them and watched them grow. maíz has granted and continues to grant us countless teachings within its complex ecology, its stories, its specific needs and desires. it is a tool and teacher for resistance, resilience, solidarity and dignity.

A part of Michaela Coyoli Basman Monterrubio’s embroidered tortilla serviette book.

it began with a seed.

bueno, no mero con una semilla,

it began with a hand.

técnicamente, it began with a seed,

so yeah, it began with a hand.

well, regardless, it began

9,000 years ago in the valley of mexico.

or was it 5,000? 100,000?

the point is it began with a child

it may have been me

no recuerdo mucho,

i just remember i could only count to seven:

ce,

ome,

yei,

nahui,

macuili,

chicuace,

chicome

i loved math, ce, ome, yei, nahui, macuili, chicuace, chicome.

i loved adding up the words

so they could expand the expressions

that later multiplied as constants

to equal the root—of my heritage.

now

i am sweet

but don’t let my blonde hair and golden skin fool you

i’m not part of an elite

i am everywhere

at all times

agent o is my grandpa and zyklon b is my granny

extermination and displacement run in my family

my agenda is simple

i will feed you

but only to make you hungry

i will prop open your mouth

and replace the word dignity

for comfort

and watch you as you stumble away

ready to obey

whatever it is i have to say.

i am sweet,

peaches and cream sweet,

so effective so efficient sweet,

in every one of your groceries sweet,

so accessible so cheap sweet,

it’ll only cost your livelihood sweet,

so so so sweet

acaso te empalaga?

you can’t make me go away

i am with you every single second of your day

colonizandote

con cruz y espada los blancos,

yo—con un pedacito de ti y mi propio mon-santo

i am sweet i swear i just want to,

no, i need to be everywhere

you see, my parents, they’re not too nice

they’ve never told me where i’m from

they hide it at all costs and for a very high price

they’ve made sure i can’t have children

who can have children of their own

i am so alone

my body has been removed, taken, traded, treated, transported, transplanted, isolated, nipped, tucked, tinkered, broken down, built back up, scrutinized, synthesized, hybridized, improved, modified, rectified, advanced, developed, enhanced and cultivated,

over and over and over

and i give and i give and i give

holding my breath for hundreds of years

unable to recognize my own face

unable to recognize yours

you place force-feeding tubes

down every single one of my pores

slowly sliding them in

tearing my every tissue on the way down to my core,

and you pump them, and pump them, and pump them

with the acids, the alcohols, the syrups, the citrates

an empire

you've built with the corpse of a grain

we used to call centli:

"that which comes first”

now

a morbidly monotonous, monochrome monoculture

we call the

first world

let me tell you what came first.

you call it domestication

but that’s your screwed, skewed interpretation

our relationship was a good one

one of those epic love stories untold and unpublished

because it was established

on respect,

consent,

commitment

too extensive for your books,

too boring for your screens

but let me tell you something

it was sweet

and savoury, and spicy, y acidito y exquisito,

oh, listen to me 

i say it was as if we’ve died

as if our bodies have been buried deep in a tomb

and even if they have ¿qué?

haven't we learned yet that the earth is a womb

and that we, we are seeds?

most of us have lost

our original language, culture, ways,

some of us

even the language imposed on our people’s tongues we’ve lost.

and we say lost

as if we were careless for one second

and it’s been gone ever since

the crushing weight of a burden

too heavy for us to carry alone

¿acaso no te rompe la espalda ese peso que cargas tu sola?

no dudes ni por un segundo que de aquí es tu proceder

si alguna vez lo haces sabes muy bien que comer,

do not for one second doubt that you are from here

if you ever do

you know what to eat,

but be careful of what you’re fed,

they are capable of forcing your mouth wide open

and replacing

the word dignity for comfort

and watch as you stumble away

ready to obey whatever it is they have to say

they’ll draw lines of separation

impose their geography,

their time,

their calendar,

their borders, passports, green cards, minuteman, security,

we’ll be called alien,

too much, not enough

muchos, pero insuficientes,

insightful, but inefficient,

ingeniosos, pero ineficientes,

wise, but obsolete,

sabios, pero obsoletos,

our hands that know so much will become tools,

we’ll be doing what we know, what we’ve always done,

but somehow to feed everyone

but ourselves

we’ll be called illegal,

they will ban our existence

because

we

know.

addendum

on october 25th, 2018 

the caravana migrante

made up of more than 7,000 refugees

from honduras on their way to the usa

bulldozed en masse

through a fence set up by the guatemalan authorities

pouring into mexico by the thousands

guatemala, mexico and the usa

prepared to receive the “illegals aliens”

with the national guard, riot police and military

canada is quiet.

remember

that the number of refugees

is directly proportional

to the amount of land

taken over by transnational corporations, megaprojects,

remember

that the number of refugees

is inversely proportional

to the number of people who can grow their own food

because it is

the same people,

the same land,

the same story.

on september 26th, 2014

43 students

from the rural teachers’ college raúl isidro burgos

went missing

remember

that the number of missing people

in the “3rd world”

is directly proportional

to the amount of land

the “1st” has already got its eyes set on

that every empty seat in a classroom

of a rural, indigenous school

is an empty patch of land

ready

to be exploited

remember

that the number of missing people

is inversely proportional

to the number of people who remember how to grow their own food

because it is the same people, the same land, the same story.

on may 3rd and may 4th of 2006

in san salvador atenco

200 people were arbitrarily arrested

31 women sexually assaulted

2 youth killed

for organizing and speaking out

against an airport that was to be built on their land

remember

that these numbers are consistently proportional

that to be able to develop, expand, progress

the people in the way

need to be removed

discarded

and these people

they’re so clung to their land

it would seem as if their feet have roots

as if they themselves are the corn plants they grow

and their feet are their roots

but it’s all about finding the right price, isn’t it?

because all plants can be uprooted if sufficient force is applied.

remember

that people don’t leave because they want to,

or go missing because they’re lost

behind every death, every disappearance, every massacre, every murder, every abuse, every exodus

is a patch of land ready to be exploited.