Xochiquetzal from Frontera Dogs by Gabriella Gutiérrez y Muhs & Eric Muhs

Xochiquetzal

Xochiquetzal, goddess of sensuality, feasting, craftsmanship,
among other pleasures
Patron of weavers, embroiderers, silversmiths, and sculptors

Xochiquetzal, we, who invented private kitchens to cook alone,
to die in solitude,
we do.

We who cook for one and share with none
We who progress by destroying
We who shop for food begrudgingly or as a pastime
and know not the joy of eating flowers
selling at the mercado
coloring our faces and bodies
envision eurisms.
We who collect pots and pans we might never use
and forgo mixtamal daily for hamburger buns made last year

We who recycle clothes instead of gifting them
who waste our lovemaking cadences on ourselves frivolously
and use our nails instead of tools
Bless you.

These days, you would know us ill, broken, materialistic, brute, lazy, broken, ignorant

And yet we weave food into love
celebrations, close, satisfaction, heart

In order to remember a world you navigated in your colorful quetzal feathers
Our quest is in fact a feather
we can fill with ink

We women are still burned in milk, indomitable.
We make books with cheesepaper, ricepaper, tortillas, and other nourishing ingredients
that sometimes crumble upon perusal.

Liquids are hard to gel, Xochiquetzal.
For the pleasure of reading
Our sins are immense
Our ink is the opposite of octopus
We wipe our eyes with honey.

Women bees we are, producing endlessly sweet bile.

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