A Woman's Dance

Her eyes glowed like a golden crop field in the summer

And her dark hair danced in the strong wind, furiously

Her arms snaked into the clear of the sky 

And her hands moved to the sound of the wind

Her dance was a ballad

The most beautiful of them all

And my eyes were captivated

She seized the moment and kept me hidden behind the trees

Absorbing her entirely 

The trees and blazing sunlight cried at her feet

And suddenly all of nature bowed to her splendor

And somehow

I found myself bowing along

Irene Garza (Part III, Essay)

Irene Garza, young, humble and beautiful. Irene’s beauty went as far as crowning her Miss All South Texas Sweetheart during her adolescent years. She was greatly envied by most girls in her neighborhood. Her beauty enchanted boys of all ages but angered most girls, leading her to a life of loneliness and very few friends as an adolescent. One might believe that beauty is all there is to a happy life but that wasn’t the case for Garza. Beauty was anything but happiness for Garza. It was what ultimately shattered and destroyed her life.

Garza lived from 1934 to 1960, through World War II and the baby boom years. During her young adult years, McAllen was under construction and growing by the day. It was also the blooming of Hispanic culture in lower Southern Texas. Irene Garza benefited from this, as she came from a Hispanic family and was Hispanic herself. She was merely five years old when she first moved to McAllen, Texas.

Garza was known to be deeply religious and passionate for Catholicism. She would occasionally hold bible study meetings in loved ones houses, with different families that often held different beliefs than that of Catholics.

As Garza grew older she found her calling as an elementary school teacher, and was profoundly loved by all her students. She loved spending time with the children and teaching them new things everyday. Overall, Garza was cherished and loved by her surroundings. She was easygoing and comfortable to be around with, but sometimes her easygoing nature could be dangerous, and lead to a dangerous vulnerability.

It was a chilly Saturday night when Garza decided to borrow her father’s car to meet with the priest for confession. Never had her loved ones and family imagined that a chilly Saturday night would turn into a tortuous horrific night, and the last night they would ever see their daughter’s tender smile nestle upon her nourishing face. To many her beauty was a blessing, but to Garza her beauty was the start of a horrifying event that eventually led to a dreadful death.

That same week, Garza was found in a McAllen canal and was officially declared dead. She lived a young life but was treasured by many. Her death was tragic but she lived according to her beliefs. The world is rid of her but she lives within the hearts of her loved ones. 

“The tragedy of life is not death but what we let die inside of us while we live.”

Norman Cousins

Everyday Use (Socratic Seminar)

During the socratic seminar, both Brandon and Joanna impressed me with the high-level vocabulary they used to both ask questions and explain the story. This vocabulary undoubtedly enhanced the socratic seminar and different perspectives of each student towards the story. Words such as "oppression" and "coincide" were often used to further explain the story and heighten one's understanding of it.

As I thought back to my participation I realized that I could have done much better than I had performed. I had trouble fully expressing and conveying my ideas, and observed more than I participated.

Individually, some of us did poorly and others did splendidly well. There was no balance between the participation. Some students participated far more than others did; however, many students tried to involve the silent students in the discussion, therefore, I believe that as a group we performed moderately well.

I hope to further my participation in the next socratic seminar.

Murder

Midnight dark, silhouettes painted on the walls
Under the bed I hid
Riveting were the sounds
Dancing in the living room
Ending before my eyes
Racing into a pitch of darkness

In Place of a Witch's Spell

A handful of sincerity
A dash of patience
A teaspoon of clarity
And liters of graciousness

I name you not selfish
I name you not jealous
I name you not hesitant
And I name you not dubious

For you are not Evil
You are everything great

Gentle as the wings of a precious dove
Thus,
I name you Love

Closed at Eight (Wanted)

Wanted

Someone to do my math homework
And other subjects too
Sweep the floors, do all my chores:
Wash the dishes and feed the fishes

Someone who can buy me chips
At any time
Day or night

Won't complain, will never feign
Honest till they're lain in grave
Someone who believes in patience
Does all I say, and asks no questions

If this is you

Well, come on by!
The pay is great
Don't be late!
Did I mention that I close at eight?

The Art of Poesy

a) a conveyance of ideas and/or emotions in a form of a ballad, meant to arouse strong emotions
b) detailed, connotations
c) mixed or several emotions
d) they're both a kind of ballad
e) expressing thoughts or telling a story
f) yes
g) not right now

Never Forgotten

Coke, Mexican food, a soccer ball... These are all things that greatly represent my heritage. Every year I visit my family in Mexico and these three things are the things I see the most during my visit, and not only on my visit but at home too. I was born into a family that holds a special place for these things in their life. I've lived surrounded by these things all my life. When I think about coke I think about my brother and my father. Not a day would go by without having a sip of it for them. Coke was almost as natural to drink as water was to them. As for Mexican food, it's what I've eaten nearly everyday up to now. I remember playing soccer with my family in my early childhood. It was more than just a sport to my brother and father. It was like some sort of religion to them. All these things, the coke, the Mexican food, and the soccer ball are beautiful memories that form part of my heritage. I will never forget them.

The Art of Culture

My culture consists of mainly two things: soccer and thanksgiving. Soccer plays a main role in my life whether I want it to or not. It's inevitable. Soccer may just be a game to others, but to my family it's our way of getting together and spending time with family and loved ones. Thanksgiving is the day we express our gratitude to both God and to our family. It's a special day in which we gather around the table and also spend time with loved ones.

Star

<img src="https://docs.google.com/drawings/d/1Ykb0EIoH7awz7w3A3DhVxlevC75FrQQzP1nXpDQw9-w/pub?w=960&amp;h=720">

Best Friend

I once had a close friend who I thought to be more silent than talkative. I never really did know what kinds of thoughts roamed her head or what her truth was. She did talk but only in response to others. She never started a conversation herself. She was timid to others though not to me. Even then, I still never had a real conversation with her. She was reserved and kept more to herself. There were times when it seemed as though she wanted to talk but her mouth always remained shut.

I could see it in her eyes, though... She had so much to say but didn't know how to say it. She always seemed more comfortable with herself than with anyone else. She knew only of herself and no one else. There were times I believed she was her own best friend, and although it seemed strange there were moments I envied her.

How nice it must be, I'd think, to be your own best friend.