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Cindy "Renee" Provencio reading her original poems: We Welcome you as you Return to your Roots Mi Gila To Be Held in the Bosom of Nuestra Madre Too Much
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Cindy "Renee" Provencio reading her original poems: We Welcome you as you Return to your Roots Mi Gila To Be Held in the Bosom of Nuestra Madre Too Much
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Cindy "Renee" Provencio reading her original poems: We Welcome you as you Return to your Roots Mi Gila To Be Held in the Bosom of Nuestra Madre Too Much
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Cindy Renee Provencio reads three poems about her connection to nature and her heritage. The first poem, "We Welcome You as You Return to Your Roots," reflects on her journey along a river and her ancestral connection to the land. The second poem, "Mi Gila," expresses her longing to be in the desert and her guilt for not appreciating it enough. The third poem, "To Be Held in the Bosom of Nuestra Madre," explores her deep connection to the Gila and how it has transformed her. The last poem, "Too Much," addresses the societal pressure of being "too much" and celebrates the strength and resilience of her female ancestors. My name is Cindy Renee Provencio, and I am going to read three of my poems that are about the HEMA, and they are all in Spanglish. And this first one I wrote, I wrote on my second backpacking trip from Grapevine, and it's called, We Welcome You as You Return to Your Roots. Los montañas that cascade along el río call me by name, inviting me to strive un poquito más. Mis pies take me further than I have ever been en este río, past river bend and river bend. Pero este lugar has a familiar sense that only the depths of my soul understands. The trees swaying in the blue me saludan, rocking me into belonging comfort. And then through the hum of the wind and the song of the birds, I can hear the voices of my ancestors. Ellos me dicen, we welcome you as you return to your roots. Mi alma sabe that this journey, although new, is a return, un regreso to the place where we once thrived. La sangre that runs through my veins ran through the veins of indigenous people. Mi gente uprooted, stolen, and scattered. Yet here I am, many seasons passed and two languages later. Cada hora brings me closer to something lost and waiting to be reclaimed. These waters tene el poder to heal what was broken and restore what was stolen. As I wade through each river crossing, the current washes away generations of dolor that my spirit carries. The soothing smell of hierba buena is medicina to my aching heart. El sol dries out the fear of uncertainty en mi mente. Que bendiciones from creator. They saw it fit that I return. It is the third dia and I must go back the way I came. I emerge mas fuerte, renewed by the waters of el rio. The swaying trees like sweet abuelos give me their bendiciones for my newly formed roots. And through the hum of the wind and the song of the birds, I can hear the voices of my ancestors. Ellas me dicen, we welcome you as you return to your roots. This next one is called Mi Gila. And this one and the next one are actually displayed or exhibited at Light Arts Space right now. In an exhibit that combines poetry and visual art. So I encourage you to go check that out. This poem is called Mi Gila. Every day that passes that I don't visit her, el dolor de mi alma grows. Her vastness is both inviting and intimidating. I long to be among her trees and feel her love. But I know that her elements can be unforgiving. Los montañas call me as if they miss me too. But the heat dissuades me. Mi Gila necesito estar contigo. The same heat that dissuades me has dried up her creeks. They are empty like mi alma. Las flores, they never appeared. These desert mountains have never looked so seca. Perdón, we have not loved you as you loved us. If only I could cry enough tears to fill your arroyos. Pero mis ojos are just as dry as tus arroyos. Mi Gila, if only I can touch the edge of her boundary. Then maybe I could feel loved, wanted, and worthy again. I go to sleep longing and wake to the message. Ella me dice, through the song of the birds and the hum of the wind, that I am loved, wanted, and worthy. This next one is called To Be Held in the Bosom of Nuestra Madre. The first time I set out to leave, her sheer beauty captured my heart, and I couldn't go. I couldn't do it. I thought I would never want to leave her. But eight years later, I finally did. But fate brought me right back where I missed it the most. How I missed her montañas, ríos, y arroyos, y mi familia. Leave home, they say, but home is where the Gila is, and she calls me by mi nombre. In the last two years, su llamadas to me have gotten más fuerte. Her calls have lured me past her familiar edges, deep into her glorious canyons, and up to her peaks. Every time, I emerge with more courage, strength, peace, and love. She had something for me, and has patiently been waiting for me to claim it, something I didn't realize she could give me. That is why she urged me to volver, though not like an estranged lover who can't let go. She only wanted to heal the turmoil left from those who were supposed to love me, but hurt me. The most powerful calls come from los guates, supple, perfect peaks bonded by a great stone. She invited me to sit and stay a while. As I sat on her collarbone, she graciously took what was no longer youthful, sending the winds to sweep every bit of debris out of every corner of my heart, to be held in the bosom of nuestra madre. She knew I couldn't stay here forever, but like a good mother, she only wanted to prepare and open my heart for the adventures life has yet to bring. I look to her with the prospects of leaving, and she encourages it. In this life, I know I will venture far beyond the gila. Better when I am gray and my year is mostly spent, I will return to her. My final years will be spent with her. When I've taken my last breath, return me to her collarbone and release my ashes to the wind so that my spirit may join the ancestors in welcoming our gente back to their roots. This last poem that I'm going to read is one of my newer poems. It's very fresh, and I recently read it at an open mic at the public library, and it was well received, and I was even encouraged to bring it on this show, so here I am. It is called Too Much. Do you know what it's like to be too much to be loved? And yes, I am talking about romantic love. Many people feel like they are not enough, but me, I am thought to be too much. Too much to the left, too liberal, too opinionated, too strong, too involved in my community, too generous, too selfish, a contradiction, I know. Too sickly, too many meds, too intense, too much, too much for these heteronormative men who don't know what to do with a queer woman. Too rooted, too outdoorsy, too masculine, too many interests, too smart, too educated, too independent. Being too much can take a toll on your self-worth. But when I feel like I am too much, I remember the matriarchs from who I come from. I come from Great Grandma Olaya, the healer, the woman who walked around with her pistola on her homestead. I come from Great Grandma Jesusita, the woman who resisted assimilation, both women who never remarried after death and divorce. I come from Grandma Mary, the woman who still commands respect and is very opinionated. I come from my mother, Cynthia, the woman who has healed from unspeakable trauma and is a beacon of love and faith. So when I feel like too much, I remember who I am and who I come from, and I am okay with being too much. To the men who didn't see a future with me because they find me too much, find less.
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