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  Edyka Chilomé

​HERMANUTICS

/ˌhərməˈn(y)o͞odiks/
 
noun
  1. the branch of knowledge that deals with interpretation, especially of the Bible or literary texts.

 
I begin by admitting that this language is proof of my drifting. A testimony of my involuntary deviation and instinctual navigation. They have called me poet. A charge not a choice. A designation of spirit independent of any word written or spoken because what is this language if not proof of my poverty? Proof of separation? Proof of displacement? What is this language if not proof of my courage? Proof of resilience, mala yerba, territorio salvaje, chilomé. What am I but proof of a grueling encounter grown in the captivity of chaos, the magnificent and miraculous alchemy of survival. I have chosen liberation by way of it’s cartography, awaken by its intoxicating translations of life. These words weave what so many of my grandmothers weaved with their hands and their mourning hearts: Story. Map. Prayer. Poem. 

​The way home. It is all I have and at this point all I have come to know. 
Edyka Chilomé

A Bright Evening

If light equals good
and dark equals bad
then if I want to be light
​is that good or bad?


They told me I was cute for dark
but cousin was beautiful for light

They told me to stay out of light
to be less dark like cousin


They told me light was good so stay in dark
I like the light so I watch from dark
tempted to be beautiful like light cousin


I often wonder where my dark came from
Its hard to find stories of dark since
the world became enlightened


They tell me dark doesn’t exist
it is only defined by the absence of light
So maybe my dark is from a time
where there was not light

Maybe in that space
they were not scared of dark

Maybe that’s where all my existence be
​Maybe there I didn’t have to hide from light
to be beautiful like light cousin

​Maybe there I could be just me
both and neither, light and dark
maybe there light is good
and dark is free 
Edyka Chilomé

​We The Earth 

I have learned that mine
is a lineage of futurist

visionaries who bled litany
from in between their legs
drafted new constellations
on the dirty canvasses of their grief  
cradled unnamed oceans
birthed in the belly of a wild rage
 I have forgotten their names
 Though I will never forget
how to move in the dark waters
of their unspoken memories
cautiously    carefully
learning to translate the blue prints
of their joy, pushing myself against
​the possessing currents of their shame
 
I have remembered  my name
 
Told to take hold of a hope
that I could exist without the chains
of a tortured past and a joy that might last
outside of a fleeting moment
a hidden smirk
a timid gesture of
selflessness  
 
I have found a new name
 
Coded in the movement 
of germinating waters
there is a future to be born yet
new words to be spoken
medicine to be made
 
I remember our names
 
Memories of descendants born free
in explosions of tenderness
and the joyful sounds of tumbling walls
Descendants who have met the crevices of freedom
and know she is more than an aching dream
that bruises and bleeds us all
 
I remember a future full of food
grown by mothering hands
respected stewards of freed land
and healed waters
baptized by 
the laughter
of children and fathers

named collaborators
and ambassadors of hope
 
I remember a future full of pride
where one knows how to celebrate
when differences collide
enamored by the beauty
of traveling worlds
and building bridges
with their hearts
knowing love 
is the most 
valuable art and
we the earth, 

it’s most 
masterful 
teachers
Edyka Chilomé
  • Home
  • About
  • Writings
    • Books >
      • El Poemario del Colibí / The Hummingbird Poems
      • She Speaks | Poetry
    • Film
    • Stage
    • More
  • Casita Chilome
  • Upcoming Events
  • Booking & Contact