Selected Works of Alexandra Lopez Iglesias

It was below freezing the day

your family moved into the newly constructed, slightly unfinished home on Panamá Street.

You were only sixteen days old.

​

While your mother oversaw the move, managed five 

other children, and supervised workers, Mama Lupe, 

fastened your little body to hers, without cessation. 

Her fear, not unfounded, was that the extreme cold 

would claim your delicate life if left unattended. 

It gets so cold in the desert.

​

This initial attachment and uninterrupted touch, 

cemented in your psyche, transformed your very essence. 

It was the most fortuitous and consequential event to interject our bloodline.  

Tragically, you would never be held for that long and 

with that tenderness again.

Your body remembered, and sought it, relentlessly, until enough beatings and rejections caused you to completely withdraw. 

 

 

The enormity of your pain was too much for a little girl,

so you prayed, fervently, for death come. 

When it didn’t, you retracted further, hardened. 

And you kept this pain hidden, collecting dust.

It grew without your knowledge, contaminating your view of others and the world around you.