This is a poem by Edyka Chilomé is a queer, Indigenous, mestiza cultural worker, writer, poet, and child of migrant activists from the occupied lands of the Zacateco (Mexico) as well as Lenca (El Salvador) people. She was raised in migrant justice movements grounded in the tradition of spiritual activism and was deeply formed by the works of Black feminist writers as a reindigenizing woman in diaspora.

The Archive of Our Relation

I admit, the mourning is constant
the names, the words, the whispers
colors and textures that were lost,
persecuted, poisoned, disinherited,
extracted, cut down, shaved, kidnapped,
unclaimed, and forgotten. An endless war

I too report, my silence has not saved me
yet running water calls spirits
hidden in me carefully
waiting for me to quiet the mind
so they may wake me right on time
to witness the great expanse
a dance so tender
it gently wakes the sun

In gratitude the sun rises
offers its power
so that we may see
all that has been done
all that is yet to come

In humility and courage
I rise, offer my power
so that I may see
all that has been done
and you who has yet to become

            Tumal sinú
may the sun always shine on you
a prayer weaved by
the most precious parts of me
            a breath
the most potent offering
to our becoming

I report, the water, the earth, the seeds
and the grace of a dancing sky
remain a pure reflection
the wealth of our inheritance
the heart of our connection
the archive of our relation
if we so choose to co-conspire
to re-member

Agua es vida, Water is life
we are the water and
remembering has offered us
our lives, love letters bloomed beautiful
in anticipation of you
travel guides to the
ancient futures that are due
living memory of
gestation and labor
humble testimonies
conspired in your favor

You see, more than hope
we hold a deep knowing
all creation moves in circle
all that was once dead is reborn
the breaking of the seed
a necessary violence
forgiveness a necessary blooming
resistance a necessary rooting
rebuilding a defining act of courage
letting go a radical act of love

I too agree with trees
I do not shy away from the darkness
Nor do I fear the wind
I remember the water
and take root in the memory of you
the living archive of relation
a sweet and sacred confirmation
that we are still alive.


haggadah Section: Introduction