Trickles of sie
fall onto my head
and body,
the small, little
crackling, tapping
sounds striking
every single part
of me,
reminding me
that I am
still here.
I look up,
eyes closed,
at Guatguyca,
thanking them
for their blessing,
yet I feel as though
something has been
hollowed within
me.
Sie continues
to tap at every
bit of me
until my ze
is fully at attention.
Ze responds:
No estás rota,
bebé.
Solo cansada.
You will learn
to chibysuca
again.
It all depends
on the fihizca.
The pquyquy
will guide you.
I press my hands
against it.
No estoy rota.
No…
no lo estás.
Sie washes
away everything
that felt gone.
I realize
how many times
I’ve stepped
into different
versions of
myself
and watched
the Siachoque
gently take
them away—
with joy,
with grief,
with pain,
with love,
but never
with any intent
to harm.
Only to carry away
that which
no longer belongs,
and leave me
with what always stays:
ze