Circulo Members 2025

Dalia Aguilar

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

Julie Calderon

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

Pam Concepcion

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

esmeralda fernandez

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

Cecilia Gamiño

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

Diego Graglia Thea

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

Georgina Marie Guardado

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

AnaMaria Guevara

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

G. Zach Hauptman

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

Thakur Kumari

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

Carlos Ornelas

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

Claudia Ramírez Flores

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

Untitled

She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

Tisha Reichle-Aguilera

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

Jess Saravia

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.

Karen Terry

Rosanna Alvarez is a braided storyteller, educator, artist, mother to three guerreras, and a trucker's wife based out of Hollister, California. She is the author of Braided [Un]Be-Longing, a poetry collection that weaves together the most unanticipated spaces of poetic legacy found in the everyday and in everybody. She is the Co-Founder and Editorial Director of Eastside Magazine, an alum of the Macondo Writers Workshop, a fellow with the Anaphora Arts Emerging Critics Program, and recent recipient of the Distinguished Preservation Service Award for her work in writing, publishing, teaching, and performing. She grew up in San José, California as the first-born of nine siblings in a loud and loving Mexican family, siempre rezongando. She remains in awe of the power of Chicana storytelling, with heart in hand, ink to the page, always hollering truths. She also teaches Chicana and Chicano Studies at San José State University.

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She reached over and rubbed her white moonstone ring with her left index finger as if to say, “There, there.” Soothing. With her eyes closed, the smooth length of the ring could almost be mistaken for a piano key. It even had a tempo to it that she wouldn’t dare defy.

Everyone always commented on how beautiful it was. If you looked at it from just the right angle, you could see there was an iridescence to it. That always reminded Evelia of the different angles in life. Twists and turns that could shift your perspective ever so subtly. This wasn’t a dynamic she took for granted.

Long and oval like her mother’s kitchen table from her childhood. No fixed edges. You could always make more room. How many had gathered around that table throughout the years? Odd, she hardly

remembers meals at the table. The vivid recollections all center around laughter, jokes, a combination of people sitting and standing. Gathered. Recollecting joy. Moments of exuberant “Happy Birthdays!” and “Yo quiero la flor.” Her mother would sometimes take a knife to the table, waging war against the crumbs that had made home in all of its crevices, hoarding mementos from moments long gone. It was the only way to shake them out.

Still rubbing her ring, she opened her eyes and remembered. The sacred lands of Chimayo were not too far from Las Cruces.