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Solastalgia: An Eco-Feminist Poetry Zine

Demian DinéYazhi' & Jess X Snow

Justseeds migrant artist, Jess X. Chen and Indigenous, Diné artist & poet, Demian DinéYazhi collaborated on the zine Solastalgia, featuring a sampling of both of their poetry work.

SOLASTALGIA: (n.) The pain experienced when the place where one resides or one loves is under immediate assault.

SOLASTALGIA: a queer eco-feminist poetry tour featuring the transdisciplinary works and performances of Chinese-American migrant artist JESS X SNOW and Indigenous Diné artist Demian DinéYazhi founder of RISE: Radical Indigenous Survivance & Empowerment. Through poetry and public art, their work embodies the form of time travel and recalls narratives of queerness, love, trauma, fantasy, and survivance. Their work is a reclamation of inherited lands, ancestors, and cultures lost to post-apocalyptic colonial violence. Through poetry they create indigenous and immigrant futures in the time of our current ecological collapse. 

Read an interview where we talk about the inspiration behind this book here. 



Mourning On The Pineridge Indian Reservation by Demian DinéYazhi




by Jess X. Chen

Honey, our hive is built and ruled
by women. Honey, we were once wild. Honey, look at the flowers. We raised them into artichoke, pepper, squash,
and apple for you, Honey. You found
our hive and renamed it colony–or
a factory of Yellow, Black, and Brown honey–we are the silent workers
who bring home your dinner,
whether or not our Honey comes home. Home was the wild flower you pulled
out to plant your White monoculture. Honey, we pollinate thirty acres of White apple trees to bring home one pound ofhoney, to bring home one pound
of bodies. The poison in the pollen
is poison in our colony is poison
in your children. Honey, tell me:
was your breakfast sweet? Honey,
when this colony collapses into a pool
of Yellow Black and Brown honey,
the women are always the first to go.
I close my wings and hit the ground.
I open my wings and my colony
drops dead. I close my wings
and every flower at my funeral
begins to grieve. Honey?
Who will raise the flowers
when we are gone? Honey,
do you see our queen?
She is next. And then
the Earth, and you,
Honey. Every drop
of my Yellow
Black & Brown
is falling into
a field of

Honey, I’m home.

Jess X. Chen –

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