Claudia D. Hernández was born and raised in Guatemala. She is a photographer, poet, and a bilingual educator in the Los Angeles area. Her photography, poetry, and prose have been published in The Indigenous Sovereignty Issue of The Peak, Hinchas de Poesía, Nineteen-Sixty-Nine: A Journal of Ethnic Studies (UC Berkeley), Kalyani Magazine, Blood Lotus Journal, REDzine, among others. Claudia is pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing for Young Adults with an emphasis in Poetry at Antioch University, Los Angeles.
Please don’t kill yourself.
I had a dream where you came to my
apartment and knocked on my door.
I saw you through the window watching
with misty eyes, how the jornaleros,
hired from the sidewalks of Home Depot,
tore apart apartment C, across from me.
You stood there in the middle of the
ruins admiring the act of destruction.
With a Francis Bacon-like face, melted,
you turned your attention to your bike,
parked upside down. The back wheel
kept spinning on its own accord;
I decided not to open my door.
We are apart:
There is no distance,
between the silence
and the thumping
of the mind.
I am nothing left
but dust and stone
your wounding tone.
:trapa era eW
,ecnatsid on si erehT
ecnelis eht neewteb
gnipmuht eht dna
.dnim eht fo
tfel gnihton era ouy
enots dna tsud tub
.enot gnidnuow ruoy