simp’aykuna
i am thinking about hair
mamá tells me bisabuela
washed her hair with herbs
flowing to the floor
moving like waves
i think of what her name
feels like in my mouth
unsung hymn to native woman
i am asking about our hair
her hair, why she always
wears simp’aykuna
she tells me doing hair
is ceremony, connector
to greater things
to guard our spirit
to show respect to the gods
“remember en Cusco?”
she reminds me of how
our people always wear
hats or their chullos
“to stop things from
getting in too,
hija querida.
to protect.”
i am thinking of native women
who swallow mountains
weaving hands
i am thinking of simp’aykuna
extension of this movement
intertwining tendrils
of living thing
i see her standing there
speaking language
tending to the earth
i dream of Andahuaylas
it feels the same in
my mouth as her name
places and people
as ancestors
i’ve never seen
but see me, sing to me
they want me to put my
hands in the soil
spit on the earth
bare coca stained teeth
they want to know me
i am thinking about hair
i am thinking about distance