Demetria

[Iba rin 'to.]

"Your pen is a gavel, calling the world to order.

"...You write even when you are not writing. Fall asleep with your notebook, and ink leaks into the page. A day or decade later you recognize the glyph on the paper and, with a great 'Aha," you set out to translate it into a poem. (Years of stained fingers: the ink is working its way to your heart. You will die writing.)

"You write because you are so human. You fall in love the year that glaciers, for the first time in recorded history, melt and crack. You write a love poem.

"A long time ago you wrote: 'Because we have no word for light/We live in shadows.' Still, you persist in the hunt for that word. You search for more paper as the candle honoring the spirit of Paloma Escobar Ledezma burns furiously. You email friends in San Francisco, Vietnam, El Salvador, Africa, and Ireland. POets all, they promise to search for the word for light in their languages and histories.

"They put pen to paper and call the world to order."

-Demetria Martinez