Shey Rivera Ríos
La jíbara bruja
Shey Rivera Ríos is the Artistic Director of AS220. Outside of her arts management role, Rivera is a performance and installation artist, musician and writer. Co-founder of Las Tenoras poetry collective, founder of the Latinx arts and music magazine Crudo, and producer of the performance series Luna Loba and Fluxus Moon Cabaret. Rivera's poetry is featured in the first Queer Anthology of Puerto Rican contemporary literature titled Los Otros Cuerpos; and her narrative in "Witch Fingers", first of a series of anthologies produced by DMNS Press. This year, Rivera self published a first book of poetry titled Los Buitres (The Vultures), a collection of 42 esoteric poems about transformation. In addition, Rivera completed performance/multimedia arts residencies at BOOM Concepts Gallery in Pittsburgh, as well as Santiago, Chile, where she performed at the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Santiago. Most recently, she completed a body of work titled FANTASY ISLAND, an immersive multimedia installation and performance reflecting upon the debt crisis in Puerto Rico. Rivera is a strong advocate of artists and creative practice as catalysts for social change.
La Jíbara Bruja (The Witch from the Mountains) was performed by Shey Rivera at the Weekly Revue on Friday, April 20, 2017. A part of Indie Grits Visiones.
Witch that perks on avocado trees
With talones de gallina de palo
Talons of an iguana slowly climbing branches to get a taste of
Talons of a rooster trained to fight to defend my honor.
I am most comfortable under the rainstorms that make the montes sweat and birth streams
I can see that you have
Eyes of el guaraguao (the hawk) as it soars with its kind over mountains.
Ears of el mucaro (the owl) listening to the rustle of palm trees.
The skirts of the island have been lifted
And a leather belt has licked her skin, left trails of red, blue, black
To replace our flag.
This is a funeral. Will all its intricate ornaments and multicolored blossoms, it is still a funeral.
My jíbara spirit is a magnetic field
cradled in the plantain breasts of the forest.
I can only but follow its call. It sounds like thunder and rides the back of wild horses.
Yes, we’ve got wild horses.
where are you from?
Did you get here on purpose?
Where are you headed?
What are your dreams made of?
Mine taste like rain.