Gretel H. Vera-Rosas

Negro Azulado


Gretel H. Vera-Rosas is an immigrant from Mexico City. She is a mother-scholar, writer and educator. Vera-Rosas is an Assistant Professor in the Sociology Department at California State University, Dominguez Hills. Her work is published in The Chicana Motherwork Anthology, as well as in scholarly journals such as Feminist Formations, e-misférica, and Chiricú Journal: Latina/o Literatures, Arts, and Cultures.


Por alguna razón sé que estamos en el circo
(aun cuando en el marco de la foto no hay nada que me lo indique) 

Nuestro cabello es de la misma materia:
grueso, pesado, negro azulado 

Parece que tú y ella observan lo mismo
(quizá un truco de magia, algún acto circense que no los divierte)
Me estoy metiendo un dulce en la boca 

Me tienes abrazada
y aunque los tres estamos juntos
sé que solo están ahí por mí. 

Yo, estoy viendo de frente
observando al fotógrafo que ustedes dos ignoran 

Me gusta la expresión de mi cara
mis ojos no parecen darse cuenta que nuestro tiempo juntos 

se ha terminado




this gift these cacti


when i was pregnant the owner of a nursery gifted me a small cactus
the old woman paced around, took her time looking at the cacti until
she found one that “looked like a boy” 

because she said i was going to have a boy 

and i did

she gifted me a small rainbow cactus
(which does not tire of blooming fuchsia flowers) 

when i went home i planted it next to a miniature prickly pear
that i bought when my sister found out she was pregnant 

i named these cacti
ayelén and raymi like my niece and son 

i keep them at the entrance of my place

if i pay attention,
this gift
these cacti
murmur to me that
i must
return to myself
i must
the way i watched my grandmother watered her plants, how she grew them in buckets
and tin cans 

i must
hear her waking me up every morning 

calling me to rise:

ya es otro día…

© The Acentos Review 2021