A Year of Offerings to the Body
On the first day
I laid down a golden gift at her altar
believing that glitter would appease her
On the second day
I brought her vials of fragrant oils she could bathe in
they only lasted for a while
On the third day
I gave her a bowl of fire
that mimicked the waving flames of her eyes
On the fourth day
I left a jug of spring water at her feet
the kind that washes away sins
On the fifth day
I showed her a mirror
to call her back to herself
On the sixth day
I broke a painted pot at her feet
and rubbed the dust on my face to hide from her
On the seventh day
I carried a basket of snakes to her doorstep
She wanted to be closer to power
On the eighth day
I carved the ancient blade across my skin
let blood dribble across her toes
believing there was an exchange
On the ninth day
I clutched the hem of her skirt and sang
like the morning birds at her window
On the tenth day
I stayed away
there is hope in holding my breath
On the twentieth day
I laid my head on her knees and cried
wondering if tears would satiate her thirst
On the fiftieth day
I beat my chest and screamed at her
not once did she smile
On the hundredth day
I tried it all over again
On the two hundredth day
I sat next to her chair and took her hand in mine
On the day I stopped counting
I told her I was ready to listen
I laid down a golden gift at her altar
believing that glitter would appease her
On the second day
I brought her vials of fragrant oils she could bathe in
they only lasted for a while
On the third day
I gave her a bowl of fire
that mimicked the waving flames of her eyes
On the fourth day
I left a jug of spring water at her feet
the kind that washes away sins
On the fifth day
I showed her a mirror
to call her back to herself
On the sixth day
I broke a painted pot at her feet
and rubbed the dust on my face to hide from her
On the seventh day
I carried a basket of snakes to her doorstep
She wanted to be closer to power
On the eighth day
I carved the ancient blade across my skin
let blood dribble across her toes
believing there was an exchange
On the ninth day
I clutched the hem of her skirt and sang
like the morning birds at her window
On the tenth day
I stayed away
there is hope in holding my breath
On the twentieth day
I laid my head on her knees and cried
wondering if tears would satiate her thirst
On the fiftieth day
I beat my chest and screamed at her
not once did she smile
On the hundredth day
I tried it all over again
On the two hundredth day
I sat next to her chair and took her hand in mine
On the day I stopped counting
I told her I was ready to listen
Leticia Urieta (she/her/hers) is a Tejana writer from Austin, TX. She is a teaching artist in the greater Austin community and the Regional Program Manager of Austin Bat Cave, a literary community serving students in the Austin area, as well as the co-director of Barrio Writers Austin and Pflugerville, a free creative writing program for youth. Urieta is also a freelance writer. She is a graduate of Agnes Scott College and holds an MFA in Fiction writing from Texas State University. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Cleaver, Chicon Street Poets, Lumina, The Offing, Kweli Journal, Medium, Electric Lit and others. Her chapbook, The Monster was published in 2018 from LibroMobile Press and her hybrid collection, Las Criaturas, is out now from FlowerSong Press.