Retoño de luna/ Sprout of Moon
Amidst a mixture of scents — mesquites, garambullos and cacti — my parents
welcomed their fourth member of their family. I’m ñähñu, a cenzontle woman. My root,
the Valley of the Mezquital, my first steps, wandered in the Juxmaye mountain,
limestone soil that has nourished our Valley for years.
My nanny taught me to name the circles of life through her millenary language
and my spirit was nourished by the hearth of my people. At a tender age my parents
taught me how to read the universe: the right time for sowing, reaping, selection of
seeds…never forgetting to offer our gratefulness to Rä zi mäkä Xímhaí/Mother Earth, to
ask for consent to sow and reap the crops. My childhood went by happily in the fields,
helping with labor tasks, sowing, collecting the harvest of the season.
The B`ot`âhi` zone (my land) depends on the raining season that goes around
April and May, the rain cycle is expected with great joy. My father regularly observed the
horizon, if the Juxmaye mountain looked a certain color, clouds sheltering the mountain,
it meant the coming of the right moment to prepare the soil. The ritual of sowing: each of
us women carrying an ayate under our arms had the task of putting in five seeds of corn
and three of beans.
Under the midday’s sun our footsteps were scattered all around the cornfield
while mom heated the food that she prepared very early in the morning; the wood
impregnated the food. Gorditas de frijol con chile guajillo disappeared from the itacate
(packed food for eating while working in the fields) and a sweet atole of mead
complemented the delicious meal. We used to eat under the shade of a mesquite tree,

furrows just sown could be seen surrounding us anticipating the rains— “even if it’s only
for the pasture,” mom used to say.
Oftentimes after class we went to the cornfields for weeding, checking on the corn
plants with the help of a hoe, we strengthened its stems by forming a little mound under
each of the plants. If the harvest (which was for self-consumption) was done before the
coming of winter, we collected it and formed “borregos” with the grass (the grass
collected in form of medium-sized segments are called borregos).
During my childhood the land of the Mezquital was generous. On summer we
collected biznagas, cobas, garambullo, different species of tuna (all different types of
cacti), pitayas (dragon fruit), chilillos, mezquites, and on the cornfields many species of
quelites. Not forgetting the flowers of the palm tree, pitayas, sábila (aloe), and golombos
(flower buds of the maguey) that are part of the traditional dishes of the region. At night,
talking with my mother, I talked about my wish of continuing to study although the house
expenses were barely covered.
Between strings and strings of sànthe (fibers from the maguey) in the looms, i
marked in my memory the mimesis of my land. My word nourished from the knowledge
of my people and my spirit, from the strength of the maguey. The nectar of mead
breastfed my thought, the contact with mud invigorated my temper. Among the singing
of crickets, the nopal showed me the semiosis of life.
With the passing of the years, rains took long to come, the soil went drying. The
clouds passed by, disregarding our Valley. Some of us were forced to migrate, with the
great desire to continue supporting our people.

My first fear was a summer’s Sunday, I told my mother my decision of moving to
Mexico City, in my insides ruled the wish to continue at least with a technical career and
thus support them, my baptism’s godmother lived in the colony Martin Carrera, she
could provide me with lodging. I went into the city with the address at hand, during the
journey of four hours of travelling, i recalled my mother’s instructions: “stop in Martin
Carrera, two blocks to your right and one to the north”, arriving to an unknown city at
fifteen is intimidating.
In that big city i studied a technical career, got a job on weekends. I used to walk
around the downtown, by the “Alameda Central” it was common to come across used-
book stalls, usually i got one. I missed life in the country. Sometimes i used to walk
around the Alameda, just to sit and listen to a “cilindrero” (organillero, an organ grinder),
a synonym of the cenzontle in that big city.
Three years passed, I could not wholly adapt to the city, when i finished my
technical career, i decided to try new horizons. I moved to the frontier of Tijuana, got a
job in a maquila, attended a course on computing on the evenings after work, that in that
time my knowledge on that matter was almost zero. Because of the great requirement of
work, our shifts were rotating, five days during the day and five at night, working twelve
hours, it was completely exhausting. I changed job, to another maquila. A chance came
up to travel with the purpose of training in the process of production almost at the end of
summer— we were sent to the city of Malaysia. Malayan people are hospitable, the
weather is warm and moist, rains heavily. You could say is another “eternal spring”.
It took us some time to adapt to the new context we were immersed in, we were a
group of Mexican women learning visions from another perspective, I used to explore

our surroundings after work, the view was contrasting, on one side you found an
industrial complex and at the turn of the path, a photography of nature, fallen leaves, the
solitude of the mountain, the sounds of insects and of the river.
Coming back, I worked many years in the textile industry, one day my spirit
endured no more, it refused to keep being an automaton. I got a job on a book
distributor, with a more relaxed timetable (had the opportunity to learn the acoustic
guitar), the singing of birds returned to me. What was I leaving for legacy to my people?
Dust with no seeds! Winter was coming to my life and my people’s voice had just been a
cave in me. Simultaneously, i started giving workshops on peripheral areas. As my
academic program in conalep differed from the current program, i decided to enter the
cemsad. For three years i attended my courses on time on weekends, working from
Monday to Friday. Later I studied a major in Language and Literature in Hispanic
America, I started to write on my last year, my narrative and poetry has focused on a
testimonial aspect. With the passing of time, I feedback the tools, research projects that
I have worked on my study program, by giving workshops on linguistic rights, community
projects, etc. During my major I have applied for and taken two international graduated
courses at UNAM and BUAP.
In 2017, I decided to send my first essay to an International Postgraduate
Congress, it was published, and other texts followed to make echo, I started giving
workshops for communities on this frontier. I combine my studies, labor work, literary
creation, research and community work. My journey through this life has allowed me to
observe the views of multiple people, their desires for justice, of equity and respect. I
think as of late my poetry is testimonial, through my voice and my hand speaks not only

my grandmother, but also many ancestral mothers, it’s testimonial to the language and
the h culture. I write, research and support the history of my ancestors so that these little
speakers grow with the pride of carrying thousands of years of tradition. I have let my
word sprout and scatter seeds. Maguey I am, Magoni, my root. I am Sprout of Moon.