WATCH: Lesbiana Artist Anel Flores Reflects on Orlando Shootings

Lesbiana Artist Anel Flores Reflects on Orlando Shooting from Rivard Report on Vimeo.

Video by Kathryn Boyd-Batstone

Latino Artists Tell ‘Nuestra Historia

Latino Artists Tell ‘Nuestra Historia’

Eight different stories were told to an intimate group at the Central Library Thursday night, but a collective story of struggle for space, freedom through art, and perseverance was told. In the section of the library that will soon be known as the Latino Studies Collection Space, dozens listened to local and national Latino artists, scholars, activists, educators, […]

Photo Credit: by Kathryn Boyd-Batstone

Watch Hardcore Tejanas at UCLA 2016

Incredible reading with some hardcore Tejanas!

(*Find me at 39 minutes!)

Published on Apr 22, 2016

March 31, 2016

The CSRC was pleased to welcome Inés Hernández-Avila and Norma Elia Cantú, the editors of “Entre Guadalupe y Malinche: Tejanas in Literature and Art” (University of Texas Press, 2016) for selected readings by contributing poets Alicia Gaspar de Alba, Inés Hernández-Avila, Norma Elia Cantú, Anel I. Flores, Emmy Pérez, Maria Herrera Sobek, and Juanita Luna-Lawhn.

This event was co-sponsored by the UCLA Chicano Studies Research Center, LGBT Studies Program, and the UCLA César E. Chávez Department of Chicana/o Studies.

To learn more about the UCLA Chicano Studies Research Center, please visit:

for National Poetry Month 2016


a response to the US saying, count sheep when you can’t sleep

By Anel Flores

it’s late

I don’t know

where you got the idea

you were invited to this party


you tangled us up

in your shadowy breath

the smell of hot beer

you talked into my ear

your red eyes

your smile sly

as you look out to the side

like you looked at her

when you took her home

drunker than you were

you said

to the table of butches

they didn’t laugh as deep as you

they didn’t laugh at all

but you slapped her on the shoulder

expected us to cheer you on

the gall

come on dude

you said

who the fuck are you

you’re talking to the wrong man

I thought

my skin crawled

you laughed loud enough for everyone

she didn’t laugh at all

my chest fluffed

my neck got hot

I pushed down on my feet

to stand up


everything came back

the smell that came from his open pants

the sweat

the shadow my body kneeled in

the way my head screamed sin

when he told me to open up

“o vas a quedar aquí, en mexico conmigo.”

in the desert I’m in

my soul folded

then broke

accepted him

in my mouth

imagined my lips

thorned like mami’s rosas

and cut in him

imagined drinking a coca cola

next to a christmas tree

a woman in a business suit

smoking a thin

and a blond


since I never had one

to begin

I thought

and thought

of nice things

of dreams

where there is water to drink

books to read

all I could do was believe

Until you slapped my back

and it all came back

in a different package

the smell

that nasty fucking smell

my throat gagging

my tongue growing into a knife

my feet on fire

my chest blowing up

soul unfolding

and I laughed in your face

and spit

this isn’t a tiny bit of what it feels like to be treated like shit

I said

now pick up your pants

before I cut off your fucking dick

your story makes us sick

we don’t give a shit

now tell me

where is this one

woman you tell of

from your drunken nights

we have a show for her delight

for some it may be fright

hold on tight

close your mouth

damn your breath

get down

I’m gonna turn out the light




sleep tight

good night




This City is a Poem. April 23, 2016. (

Mi Amor: On Our 1 Month Wedding Anniversary


I did not grow or grind the frijoles y tortillitas de maiz that built your strong bones, impenetrable panza and brown eyes lifetimes old:
only the water, the truth of letting pain wash away with the rain,
the coffee that tells secrets black and old,
the burning wood scent of your Mexican border once upon a time home.

From Piedras Negras where you first jumped in the river
to the refreshing waters of Yanaguana where you swam to me,
you are a sweet sour tough mesquite bean pod fallen from my abuela’s tree:
biting down, wooden limbs and feather soft green leaves dart out from my mouth and the wind blows in again.

Woman from Mexico, it’s not your fault you didn’t know
how two lifetimes ago I was a river and you were a hundred year old tree.
But the earth became too warm and I dwindled into a small stream, remembering your legs – and I drifted on

and on through another lifetime where I spotted you again passing by,
until I expired one last time, Mi Amor: I am a life for the third time
alive for the first, a raging ocean between my thighs and a moon reflection in my eyes.

By Anel I. Flores
For Erika A Casasola, my wife
inspired by Pablo Neruda’s Soneto V: Mañana

© Anel I. Flores 2015, All Rights Reserved

Isla Mujeres
Photo Credit © Jorge Sandoval 2015, All Rights Reserved

NOLA Road Trip: No Dirty Looks


This gallery contains 8 photos.

On her first day of summer, Big J drew a 5’x5’ table of the 30 colleges she plans to apply for in the fall.Since I came into the girl’s life almost 8 years ago as their Ama, I have been … Continue reading

A Girl Who Wants To Shake Up the World


This gallery contains 2 photos.

On a random Saturday, I found her standing tall on top of our brittle picnic table in the back yard casting  an imaginary fishing rod into our ocean of yellowed crunchy grass. After a few trips to the beach, Baby K … Continue reading