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