Poems from Mexico

H. M. L. Swann
Feb 16
2 min read

Updated: Feb 19

Mural of a skeletal dog outside of Casa de Los Soles in San Miguel de Allende

February 2026

Written by H. M. L. Swann

“The Sounds I Hear”

I hear birds unknown

Along with the urgent cooing of a mourning dove

The sounds here are so different than the sounds in Minnesota

A land bordered by the great Mississippi

Surrounded by dense pines

that obscure vision, hide creatures, hold secrets

But here

Here, the trees are open

Like vowels

Branching out

Bark that moves like water currents

Carving its way through time

And up to the sky

Which will warm us with its breath

And I breathe

“Blooms Watered with Mezcal and Guilt”

My relationship with poetry blooms in Mexico

Like the blue-black bruise on my thigh

Quenched by the bite of mezcal that warms my tongue

Smooth, it slips into the curve of my tummy

There, it meets that small seed of doubt watered by society’s conditioning

My phone distracts me, other worlds still seeping through

Snap a picture of la Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel before entering

I sink onto a bench, gravity and guilt begging my knees to pray

Dropping them down like sap from the tapped maple tree

I taste iron from chewing my cheeks raw

Maybe this is the year I’ll find new coping skills

For that vine of anxiety, an ivy branch working its way up my throat

Flowers fall, only to bloom again

Petals opening at the request of bees

“I Am”

I am born

sipping milky planets

I am sleep

rinsing sweet poison from my eyes

I am atmosphere

welcoming the blur that gleams

I am desert

where yellow tulips evaporate

I am...

“Dear Papa”

I sink to the bench, gravity and guilt begging my knees to pray

How did it begin? Dear Heavenly

Father, did you read my previous letter?

Dear Papa,

How did it begin? Dear Heavenly

Spirit, haunting my senses

Dear Papa,

I’m here to hear you

Spirit haunting my senses

I sob to release the collective pain