I have these moments
where I experience the paradox of
words coming into being
at the precipice of their inception
and words dying,
supernovas of cultural extinction.
I wonder if that’s how the Aztecs felt
the moment āhuacatl lost its life —
lost its ability to testify
to the avocado’s testicular formation —
when the Spanish conquistadors
grew enough balls to sail across the seas
and dominate a people
they should’ve left well-enough alone.
Aguacate they called it
refusing viable auditory nuances
of Nahuatl testimony.
These days, we call it “avocado”
because everything sounds
(and tastes) “better” with white-bread
when you crush it against the
English tongue in this country.
Featured image by Nur Afni Setiyaningrum on Unsplash