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Eohippus

By féi hernandez

Simultaneously I am
                 alone and crowded,                      this…
the pulsing wound of being                        extinct,

whole
                enough for a morning forage,
yet          scant for the onlookers

of lineage,
                of nation,
myths in the mulberry tree.

For a second I forget my name
                Equis Fetus Caballas—the animal parts,
the Indigenous wind bone part

become the blurred xeric
               shrublands, a mesa, or highway reaching
its lip to the sky lids.

A million-year-old fossil contemplating the sun of its parts.
                how did I happen?
the conquistadors introduce me to myself

despite having roamed the Americas
                before…                                                                 before.
Desperate, I become geography, the long legs of

abandon, lick the dollops of cumulus clouds ahead,
                 behind, to the sides of me—a hunger to own the scorched earth.
I want it all.

I want to be
                it alllllllllllllllllllllll so there are no questions about
the sum of my parts.   

I am not enough for your system of quantification
            to you or               to me
in this suffocating museum heat.

there are no stallions left in         sa’téachi
                                                                 sa’téachi
                                                                 sa’téachi
                                                                 sa’téachi
                                                                 sa’téachi
                                                                 sa’téachi
                                                                 sa’téachi
                                                                 sa’téachi
we have been collected, returned to sender,

which brings us back here:
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
                 non-native
to the americas, they say.

I grazed every sand particle of Samalayuka to prove it.
              This…
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a wreckoning of halves of halves.

 

 

 

Listen as féi hernandez reads Eohippus.
Added: Friday, October 11, 2024  /  Used with permission.
féi hernandez

féi hernandez (b.1993, Chihuahua, Mexico) is a trans, formerly undocumented immigrant. She is a 2023 Lambda Literary fellow and 2022 Tin House Scholar. féi is the author of HOOD CRIATURA (Sundress Publications, 2020) and the forthcoming (UN)DOCU MENTE (Noemi Press, 2025). féi’s poetry/ prose is published in Los Angeles Review of Books, Poetry, Academy of American Poets, Hayden's Ferry Review, TransLash Media, and the anthology Here to Stay (HarperCollins, 2024). féi is a descendent of the Pi’ma, Rarámuri, and Cora peoples. She is currently learning Rarámuri from an elder with the hopes of re-igniting her Indigenous lineage and to be of direct service to her native peoples. For more of her projects and services visit féi's website.

Image Description: féi hernandez smiles coquettishly at the camera. Her hair is a straight bang with a small mullet and feminine sideburns. She is wearing a grey crop-top, a silver chain choker, and a name plaque that reads: Shumarí. She has hoops and a septum piercing.

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