Broken Earth: Teroorpe’ ‘Ooxor:

By Casandra López 

My arm// nemaan // shows no outward // sign of fracture // teroorpe’

            I go out into // the world //tovaangar // looking //  huutokne //like a whole //

                                     person. // taaxat // But most movement brings //  a sharp inhale.

                                                A strained // ache // muxíwan //I ball myself into myself //

                                                            Can’t take off // my sports bra or // brush //

                                                                        my hair. // nepwaan // I give up //  

on opening jars to watch videos // of one-handed TikTokers // who can ponytail their hair //                                         Want to learn their secrets // to dissolve the nest that gathers // atop of my head                                                    where my cat nuzzles and paws at the mess  // I drive one-handed and                                                                             

                                                feel // so //                               alone. // nenuuno

The problem is I tried to break– // my fall and now I’m radial // I let radiation pass // through me                                     // Imagine: I am porous // Open // ‘avyeey// to the light. // taamet//                                                                    Place my hand //nepaar //out// Finger spread // Call forth

                                                            wave // lengths. Because I have learned // to live within                                                                                                 myself the technician’s fingers feel // electric.

                                                                                                My arm // hair rises to //the new                                                                                                             frequency of touch. The mistake was

                                                            I reached // for concrete //when I should have reached //                                                                         for earth.  // ‘ooxor //I’m so millennial that I tried to save // my phone instead of// my bones // ne’ee'en // All these years and I am still learning // to fall //

                                                This is nothing new.                The doctor said the radius did //

                                                            what it was supposed to do–It broke // I should feel so                                                     lucky // with bones so common  // I’m so palm to gravel // Barely a                                                skinned // knee and hand. // nemuur koy nekaano’ // But the absence //of blood                                   was disconcerting. I thought there would be a snap /// Something more // than pain to
clue me into my own breaking // apart // I understand now that I’m becoming my own territory.  

About the Author

Casandra López is a California Indian (Tongva/Luiseño/Cahuilla) and Chicana writer who has received support from CantoMundo, Bread Loaf, and Tin House. She’s the author of the poetry collection Brother Bullet and has been selected for residencies with Storyknife, Hedgebrook, and Headlands Center for the Arts. Her memoir-in-progress, A Few Notes on Grief, was granted a 2019 James W. Ray Venture Project Award. She teaches at UC San Diego.