Words: Nina Halper (She/Her)
She sits by an ageing tombstone
The sun gently fading in the sky
And the bird song reminds her of home
But in the weeded camping fields she hides
From three voices
Twisted tongues spitting a toxic spray of masculinity
Marking their territory at the picnic table
From behind their glassy thrones
They yell
Chulina
And they tell her not to worry
It means nothing
Chulina
Chulina
Vultures circling their prey
Their micro-massive aggression a display
Of possessed power
She feels detached from their energy that races through the mountains
Undesirably unstoppable
They push each other forward
And leave her behind
Asserting dominance amongst themselves
Wolves fighting their own kind
But when the reggaeton sounds
Louder than their conspicuous catcalls
And their profitless play
They have licence to surrender
To let go and dance
And they fool her for a moment
With their fluidity
With their fidelity to music
And their innocent fragility
She recognises a suffering
Then the spell fades as the youngest of them all screams
Chulina
Chulina
Vibrations that come from his raging core and his hot head
Me cago en la puta hostia
He roars
Clawing at his scalp with hysteria
Sube esta mierda
He shrills
His senses sharpen at the smell his own glory
And they praise him
Laughing
With their hands on his shoulders
This isolated touch consolidates their pact
Cabron
Chaval
He’s already nineteen but
His outdated youth allows it
Of course
She sits quiet and says nothing
Burnt cheeks from the mountain sun,
or their blazing fury,
or her melting shame
She wasn’t sure
And as the sun gently fades in the sky
She sits by the ageing tombstone
To hide from the three voices
And the bird song reminds her of fond lands
She calls home
To dose herself with a peaceful femininity
