lilvia soto

As most poets, I write for survival, for rescuing the sliver of freedom a human needs to justify her time on this earth. My words are a lifeline of defense against the thanatic impulses of dictators, liberators, bullies, and predators who destroy and desecrate life out of their sense of separateness, out of their fear of being forsaken. In my dialogue with other artists, I am reminded of our common nakedness, our shared fragility, our need for asylum on this earth. Our words are a vindication of the human spirit that keeps us wandering and creating, a call to solidarity, an invitation to honor the life force that grows the redbud, hovers the hummingbird, pollinates the zucchini, perfumes the freesia, savors the raspberry, and pours forth the soul of the nightingale (John Keats), the erotic force we need to consecrate together, for with each word we speak, sing, dance, paint, sculpt, weave, we open a window into empathy, moral imagination, and the sacralization of life.