It starts at the core of us,

in that layer resistant

to all attempts of taming.

It’s in the way we sway

in that roll of hip and tongue

in that part that rejects respectable

straight jackets that flatten us to one dimension.

Our authenticity is dynamite

ready to blow up outdated definitions.

We sing our whole and holy words

punctuated by hallelujahs
for all of our possibilities.

This poem is linked to Poets United’s Wild Friday and Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads: Just One Word—Dynamite

Liner Notes for this Groove: I’ve read a lot of poetry collections that have moved me. But when I picked up the Poet X by Elizabeth Acevedo it was like finding a long-lost family member. All I needed was a can of Inca Cola and a plate of lomo saltado nearby to take me completely back to my childhood. Ms. Acevedo finds so many of the words I felt but couldn’t say as a kid. I have to say I felt a little Molly Grue when I finished it (where was this book when I was young and hungry for something like this?), but like Molly I am truly happy to have encountered it at any age.

Song Choice:  Todos Me Miran by Gloria Trevi