Golden Rebirth

By Kamille Montoya

I am an undergrad student in the sunniest of deserts. My home, my family (my home), and my culture is what motivates me to tell stories that shows who I, who we, are. My storytelling reflects the struggles and the treasures of being a queer Mexican woman.

---

Gold flakes from my lips,

now rusted.

I follow the hidden valleys

of my bare self

with my bare knuckles.

The sun creeps up,

and caresses my hip bones -

Static. The crackle of me

is apparent and loud.

I am here.

Gold flakes from my collar bones,

now rusted.

I follow the forever roots

hiding under my skin.

The sun bleeds onto my

floorboards, setting us on fire.

Still. Wind breaks

loose from the pit of my lungs.

I extinguish the flames.

Gold flakes from my knees,

now rusted.

Bruised. I don’t follow

anything anymore.

The sun has died again,

I mourn in the inevitable night.

But my Holy Ghost whispers to me -

I am reborn,

not yet gold.

Terrified and remarkably alone,

I rise. Shivering.

Is this what it’s like to feel pure?

I close my eyes -

Mama sings,

“Mama said there’ll be days like this,

there’ll be days like this my mama said.”

I am four again.

Ash and soot pour out from my crevices,

she cries while she sings.

She doesn’t understand why

her life-giving milk couldn’t stop

the hollowing of my chest.

I am four, and

unable to speak.

For years, I stay still.

I open my eyes -

Mama’s cradling me. Mama’s howling,

“Mama said there’ll be days like this,

there’ll be days like this my mama said.”

I am sixteen again.

Ash and soot leak out from my everything.

She doesn’t understand why

she can’t stop the decay of me.

I am sixteen, begging

to be devoured by mama.

To feel safety in her cavity,

the warmth only her belly can emit.

Quiet.

Mama whispers,

“Mama said there’ll be days like this,

there’ll be days like this my mama said.”

I am twenty-three now and

honey trickles from every part of me.

I burrow myself into her, easier to swallow.

Mama hugs her belly, tight and never ending.

Her and I are safe and alone.

I drip out of her when we are ready.

“I’ve missed you,”

I kiss her belly and thank her

for the protection I didn’t know

I needed anymore.

I feel the warmth of her belly

in the voice of you

I move through the dark,

listening to it.

Raspy and tired.

I remember kicking every time

I heard your smile,

grandma.

I smell the stain of cigarette smoke

forever clinging onto the

entirety of you.

In the kitchen,

the stove flames start breathing,

and you are here.

And you are here,

reminding me what it’s like

to feel whole again -

As though the tips of my fingers

were not bitten off,

trying to erase any part of who

I used to be.

Who they forced me to be.

Who they contorted, and

mutilated me to be.

I think you knew I had been

burned.

Softer and warmer,

you talked to only me in

the language of bees.

You light your cigarette on

the stove. Your face,

so close to the flames.

Honey drips.

You sit, exhausted from

your travels. I wonder

how you’ve been on

your new star.

“There are days,

and there are days.”

You bless me with your

holy cigarette smoke.

“There are days,

and there are days.”

You turn the stove off,

grandma, without warning.

I let you go -

feeling (w)holier than ever

I head to the bathroom, for my

self resurrection.

God accompanies me.

She holds my hand.

“I did this too,”

she said to me.

She knows what it’s like,

to have her everything invaded.

She blesses the tub, and the

lukewarm water.

I dive in.

Scrubbing off the nights

that helped me die.

I bleed. The crimson falls,

forcing the water to blush.

You are not dirty, you never were.”

She baptizes me in my tears of relief,

in my golden tears of calm.

Still. Quiet.

I am safe

I am gold

---

Interview With The Author

1. What inspired the creation of your piece?
   This piece was initially longer with more sections that included various women in my life who have helped me change my perspective. Women who have helped me out from the darkest parts of who I used to be. All of the women in my life inspired the creation of this piece - in all their glory and bravery.

2. How did you start writing?
   I have always written small stories as a child. One of my aunts gifted me with a composition book and pencil when I was in elementary school. Once I hit high school, my creative writing teacher encouraged me to take risks. Once I hit college, I realized that I could use my voice to tell my story. Stories of people that looked like me, who thought like me. Who needed to fight like how I had to.

3. Why do you write?
    I write because there are so many stories that I hold so close to my heart. Stories that my grandma and my grandpa have told me - stories of their history, of our history. I live in a border city, and I am so lucky because of it - I get to experience and be a part of two different cultures, in two sister cities, two countries - all I have to do is walk outside. I write because there are so many stories and experiences that we have to share, and it is our time to share it. The world would be so lucky to hear us. I write because I want to record all that I am and how I came to be.

4. If asked to define your work in three words, what would those words be?
   Resistance. Rebirth. Women.

5. Is there anything you would like those who view your piece to know?
   I've always been so afraid to write about the darkest times in my life, but I've never felt more accomplished than when I did. Healing takes time, but writing about it (about all of it) sure does help. 

Editor’s Note

“The language used in this piece is beautiful and unique. It has a very authentic voice and amazing imagery.”

“Golden Rebirth” is an exquisite poem that captures the reader's attention at a glance. The poem’s structure and tone is unique, but the imagery is what will keep you wanting more. It’s just pure gold!