And then I have one on my phone that I wrote for my son.
I have a photo of him in there, in the art gallery so you
know who I'm talking about.
But I took a vow since he passed away
to basically not let opportunities pass me
by anymore.
Because going through a lot in my younger years,
in my 20s and 30s, like I was going through a lot and going
through depression.
And it was kind of hard for me to step out
of that, that dark spot.
And I probably wouldn't even be here today saying
what I'm saying or reading these poems to you.
But I just know that there's a lot of young people
that are hurting.
Even our elders and adults that are
going through things right now.
And it's really hard to hold on.
But I just wanted to set an example for my children,
to let them know, like, it's OK to step out of your comfort zone
and it's OK to speak up.
It's OK to express yourself.
Because for a long time, these were like poems
that I kept to myself.
I didn't share them with people.
So this is for my son.
As I sit with this smoke, this medicine and prayer,
I think of you.
I trace your footsteps in this life
all the way back to the ancestors.
Our spirit roams the mountains, the rivers, the sky.
Your heart beat still heard like a wave of wind across the land.
Your wounds no longer exist.
Your cry and now echoes of laughter among the old ones.
The Kekel you had yet to meet have welcomed you.
Tales of the past spoken in our O'odham tongue.
You now understand and speak the language.
Your hair that you had been trying to grow now
flows long and thick.
Your strength is a force.
We can feel it from the spirit realm
to where I sit writing this poem in your honor.
I will speak your name.
Dam Ka:cim Hau:pul.
Joaquin, my son.
You are OK now, at peace.
With the smile, with the destination
we didn't understand at first.
Maybe I'll never know the details, but one day,
You'll tell me of your journey and I'll tell you about mine.
Until we meet again, remember, we love you.
We will speak your name often and make
sure no one forgets you.