Mujer Malvada

^{to La Siguanaba}

I sprout from your black 
waters—arms rooting  
to earth, bajo luna del lago 
Coatepque. I am birthed 
from your memory, given 
a new skin and hide 
to brush and braid, ashes 
de Izalco dusting my hair. 

My hands, still my hands, 
marked by your myth: 
calloused, rope-burned,  
nails sharpened to blade.

My face, still my face, 
goes missing sometimes 
(just like yours, Sihuehuet.)

My body, my body, 
safe because you took 
yours back. Safe because 
you took theirs instead.