Alexandra Gulden


Alexandra Gulden writes to represent the invisibility of Latinx people in spaces that are not usually associated with them, such as her native New Orleans. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Arts & Writing Awards, the Faulkner Society, and Louisiana Writes, and she has been a mentee of both the Kenyon Young Writers’ Workshop and the Adroit Journal Summer Mentorship Program. While completely unsure of what her major will be, she currently attends Kenyon College.

Brujería Zuihitsu

Maybe if she had known this land made its money
burning witches, my mother would have turned
her hand to the brujería which allowed her to buy the ticket
and the little house
       the second-hand car
       the American bracelets
       the red lip gloss
the brujería which allowed her to fly
in spite of two corpses:
the warm plane, and the metal father. 


         “Hateful Things: Someone has suddenly fallen ill, and one summons the exorcist.”

         —Sei Shonagon

Latin Mom Medicine IRL, 49K views.
Sana sana colita de rana,
si no sana hoy, sanará mañana
Over the phone, my tía writes me a list:
              Ponte vaporúb en el pecho y bajo el nariz
              Bebe sopa de res
              Bebe té de manzanilla
              Mezcla limón y sal pero no lo beba
              Light a candle for la virgencita—
              I knew you wouldn’t know how
             to say that in Spanish 


The topic is: Latinos and Spirituality
We discuss the espiritus that followed us
from Ecuador to Bushwick, the houses
where floorboards sang and from their photos
dusty relatives yawned and blinked
as red eyes rolled in our infant heads
illness, headache, seizure, insomnia
the bruja our parents saw
the unspoken impossibility of a doctor
the egg, cracked open to reveal an eye
New-World maldición from the old homeland—
someone there was jealous beyond realizing
of our mothers, belly-swollen,
and curses always hurt babies the worst. 

I read the building codes—no candles, no sage.
I crack an egg—no evil eye.
I microwave ramen and turn on the Spanish radio—
         Siento una cosa fría,
         Tu me hiciste brujería.
I put vaporub in my roommate’s humidifier, and pray. 

When my mother boarded the plane to Miami,
1 million mal de ojos versed after.

© The Acentos Review 2018