Claudia D. Hernandez


THE RIVER NEVER HAPPENED TO ME   (i.)



                    I   used  to  walk  half   a  mile   from  Tía   Zoila's   house  to  the
                    river;    I   bathed   in   it   pretending   to   know   how  to   swim.
I was
                    eight,   breathing,  eating   the  constant   heat  of  Mayuelas.  The
                    river  was  my  biggest  alibi;  its  muddy path  was  crowded  with
pumice
                    rocks,   verdant   ceiba   trees,   and    buried     mango   seeds.   I
                    came     across    floating    mango    pits—cracked opened—their
flesh
                    consumed    to   the   bone.  No   one   noticed    their   nakedness
                    floating   by  or   sinking  to  the  bottom  of   the  river;  I  bathed
in the
                    river   hoping   to   rescue   those   seeds   from   drowning  alone.
                    On  my  way  back  home, I’d  jump  from  rock  to  rock, trickling
river
                    and  mango  seeds  everywhere. By  the  time I’d reach Tía Zoila’s
                    house,   I   was   dry,  as   if   the  river    never   happened  to  me.

CLAUDIA D. HERNANDEZ

was born and raised in Guatemala. She crossed the Rio Bravo / Rio Grande with her mother and two older sisters when she was ten years old. She’s a photographer, poet, translator, and a bilingual educator residing in Los Angeles. She writes short stories, children’s stories, and poetry in Spanish, English, and sometimes weaves in Poqomchiʼ, an indigenous language of her Mayan heritage. Claudia holds an MFA in creative writing from Antioch University Los Angeles. Her poems have appeared recently in Texas Poetry Calendar, Third Woman Press, The Acentos Review, Mom Egg Review, Berkeley Poetry Review, and elsewhere. She is the founder of the ongoing project Today's Revolutionary Women of Color.