by camila Arévalo

Under cilantro rain I run

Up the loma with thorns in my feet

And amoebas in my stomach


Pulling water from the ground

I wash my face with the cows

Watching me like gods


Twisting about in the river bed

I dream of being dirt here

If only to fertilize these mango trees


I was raised on stew of hen

With twins tucked inside her belly

I sucked out two yellow suns

And grew them in my own womb


I am an archer with pupils of emerald

And seeds of guava for tears

At night lemurs sit upon my shoulders

Reminisce on our old gold mountain ranges



Camila Arévalo is a senior in the Gallatin School for Individualized Study at NYU. Her interests in and vision of culture, society and history are rooted in her own experiences as a Colombian American. She uses the detail and candor poetry, writing, documentary film and photography to bring light to issues and people that are often overlooked. 


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