Table of contents for Spring 2026 / Vol. 131 / No. 1 in El Palacio

Poetry is my inheritance. My dad, raised by Scottish immigrants in New York City, was taught by Catholic nuns to memorize poetry. He passed the practice on to me; I remember standing at the edge of the Pecos Wilderness as a child, repeating the lines of “The Fairies,” by William Allingham, until I could recite it by heart. I still carry the words in my body, the rhythm of each line urging a steady onward march despite the poem’s dark elements. Poetry was how I made sense of the world and how I sought to express myself. Even now, when words fail me, I turn to poetry. Poets most keenly understand the limits and possibilities of language, and they alchemize letters and sounds into the unexpected and profound. In difficult…

Sunlight strikes the leafless aspen branches,strikes the white picket fence, and as Ilook at highlighted edges, my eyes sting.Tufted grass stalks sway in the flooding rays,and, in the poinsettia of this hour, I needsome darkness to bloom: in this spacea snow leopard leaps among rocks,the rosettes of its fur a moving landscape;its hunger scents the air. As I exhale,a blue-throated hillstar sips from a Chuquiraguaflower, a fly agaric pushes out of soil,a raccoon scampers backward down an elm—we are always running from and lunging to;when we stop, the eagle featherof this pause blesses. Before lightof the shortest day lifts to the hills,it runs across my line of sight in widening gold. Arthur Sze, “Leafless,” from Into the Hush. Copyright 2025 by Arthur Sze. Reprinted with the permission of Copper Canyon…

A tea master examines pellets with tweezers,points to the varying hues, then pushesthe dish aside. At another shop, a womanrinses a cylindrical cup with black tea:we inhale, nod, sip from a second cup—rabbit tracks in snow become tracksin my mind. At a banquet, eating somethingsausage-like, I’m told, “It’s a chicken’s ball.”Two horses huddle under leafless poplars.A neighbor runs water into an oval container,But, in a day, the roan bangs it with his hoof.The skunks and raccoons have vanished.What happened to the End World Hunger project?Revolutionary slogans sandblasted offAnhui walls left faint outlines. Whenwind swayed the fragrant pine branchesin a Taiwan garden, Sylvie winced, “Kamikazepilots drank and whored their last nights here.” Arthur Sze, “Returning to Northern New Mexico After a Trip to Asia,” from Compass Rose. Copyright 2025 by Arthur…

The coffee shop was unusually packed with regulars for 7 p.m. on a Wednesday. There was a mix of folks, some looking like they’d been there for a while, entire book bags of belongings sprawled across tables. A noticeably larger group—appearing to be recent arrivals—were obviously there for something that would start soon. In short order, the Mega All-Ages (MAS) Poetry Slam host would secure five judges at random from audience members who committed to staying for the duration of the event. Upon arrival, six to eight poet participants signed up for the opportunity to compete. Other poets signed up on the spot for the open mic that would kick off the event. Manuel González would follow the open mic readings as the featured poet preceding the slam. And as…

Train roar trailing down Route 66.Highway medians become sunflower fields in fallleading in three ways. The city slowly creeps awake.Silversmiths stamp patterns into sheets.A new pancake recipe. My daughters are growing fast. String lights over downtown.Friends share handshakes. Bump of the trains.Ice cream truck jingle drifting. Wind between buildings.I leave Jerry’s Café on Coal Street. We cross the tracks. Fine dust hits my bare legs.Prairie dog heads pop up and down.Frybread is not optional powdered sugar salt honeyor wrap it around a roasted green chile.Vinyl tablecloths sizzling grease.Folding metal chairs creak like cranes. Gallupians or Gallupeños?Woven rugs outdoor murals clay turquoise.Shot of an old car gun in the distance.Native, classical, country and church songs.That one train conductor lays on the hornin the middle of the night. My father-in-law’s kitchen, one…

Truth through traditions: A bold new exhibition set to open at Museum of International Folk Art The Museum of International Folk Art proudly presents a groundbreaking new exhibition, Truths Be Told: Artists Activate Traditions, open through January 20, 2027. The timely show brings together more than a dozen contemporary artists who draw on folk traditions from their own communities to address urgent social issues, reclaim erased histories, and accelerate a transformation through art. Truths Be Told highlights how traditional art forms—ranging from quilt-making, ceramics, regalia, basketry, and video—are being reimagined as powerful tools for civic dialogue, resistance, and healing. The landmark exhibition brings together an extraordinary lineup of artists including Roberto Benavidez, Mary Lee Bendolph, Ambreen Butt, Kathryn Clark, Sonya Clark, Nicholas Galanin, Cannupa Hanska Luger, Carolyn Mazloomi, Elyse Pignolet, Yinka…

Albuquerque,this is healing,reclamation.We sanctify the soil,We are more than crime statistics.We are San Jose sunrises,Barelas barrio alchemy,Central Avenue gospelpainting hope in bold strokes of dawn. The blue light of the magic hour. From Tramway to Old Town’s soul,To the west mesa We carry medicine in our stride.Our mouths,our breath. Our hearts are war drums. Rebellion embodied. Forged in fire by volcano breath, blessed by the Rio’s sacred flowBurque, you are holy ground.Not forgotten,nor forsaken.You are the drum circle,the car show,the lowrider moonrise over El Chante: a temple.West Mesa: the horizonbeckoning you to rise again Like the sun over the Sandiasand ignite every barrio that dimmed its glow. We are building a city that heals,That honors,that shouts joy into the future. Be the ceremony that heals this whole city.The Universe will…

I roll over the last set hills.The miles are easy.A railroad was hereand a town.Gold was here.Pines fill the air with pitch.The oryx and antelope retreatto the backcountry.Elk stroll pastand sound their hunger.A greasy breeze.The railroad slips throughtown and vanisheswith vibration.Big sky arches over gray green.Clouds kiss the ground.The gold disappeared.Arroyos striped with sediment.Music became history.The snow quiets all other sounds.Chiles at Smokey’s Marketand fragrant roasting haze.Dirt in my eyes and wrinkles.The brass lock twistsright-left-right. Ravens wingfrom a nearby tree.Reenacted battle.If only I could undomy future, I wouldbe here now.Bird song, early morning.A whiptailed lizard.…

If you know anything about Lucy Lippard, you know she’s one of the most significant art writers and curators of our time. You may know her thirty published books and countless essays on artists, art movements, and land. You may know her as a cofounder of the legendary artists’ book space, Printed Matter, the feminist art collectives Heresies and the Ad Hoc Women’s Committee, or any number of groups that rose up in the latter half of the twentieth century to fight institutional gatekeepers for fair inclusion of women and people of color. You may know that following decades of culture-shifting writing and activism in her hometown of New York City, she moved in 1993 to the tiny historic village of Galisteo, where she edits and writes most of the…

Shaggy red clouds in the west— unlatching a gate, I step into a field:no coyote slants across with a chicken in its mouth, no wild asparagus rises near the ditch. In the night sky, Babylonian astronomersrecorded a supernovaand witnessed the past catch up to the present, but they did not writewhat they felt at what they saw— they could not see to this moment.From August, we could not see to this moment but draw water out of a deep well—it has the taste of creek water in a tin cup,and my teeth ache against the cold. Juniper smoke rises and twists through the flue— my eyes widenas I brush your hair, brush your hair— I have red breath:in the deep night, we are again lit,and I true this time to…

A rabbit has stopped on the gravel driveway: imbibing the silence,you stare at spruce needles: there’s no sound of a leaf blower,no sign of a black bear; a few weeks ago, a buck scraped his rackagainst an aspen trunk;a carpenter scribed a plank along a curved stone wall. You only spot the rabbit’s ears and tail: when it moves, you locate it against speckled gravel,but when it stops, it blends in again; the world of being is like this gravel: you think you own a car, a house,this blue-zigzagged shirt, but you just borrow these things. Yesterday, you constructed an aqueduct of dreamsand stood at Gibraltar,but you possess nothing. Snow melts into a pool of clear water;and, in this stillness, starlight behind daylight wherever you gaze. Arthur Sze, “First Snow,”…

Embedded in the mountainscape are pages from a largescale printing of the Declaration of Independence. The bottom half of the pages are intentionally singed as they meld into distinctly pueblo black and white line work, accentuated by two cornstalks and a prickly-pear cactus at the center with ripe red fruit, seemingly ready for picking. Beyond the silhouetted mountain range, the sun is setting, sending illuminating rays upward. The entirety of the sky is a bright yellow, except for a small patch of blue along the top. At the center, there is more delicate linework, perhaps a representation of divinity or a symbolic prayer holding everything together; a promise of a brighter day ahead. Mallery Quetawki’s (Zuni) Merciless is a substantial and evocative tribute to Dewankwin Kyaba:chu Yalanne (so-called Mt. Taylor).…

MARCH/APRIL/MAY Unless otherwise noted, museums and historic sites are closed Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day. Public events are by admission unless stated otherwise. Always free for school groups and Museum of New Mexico Foundation (MNMF) members. For MNMF members-only events or to join, call 505-982-6366, ext. 100. More information at museumofnewmexico.org and museumfoundation.org. Museum of New Mexico Foundation 505-982-6366 or 888-553-6663 • museumfoundation.org The mission of the Museum of New Mexico Foundation is to support the Museum of New Mexico system, New Mexico Historic Sites, and the Office of Archaeological Studies through fund development for exhibitions, education programs, financial management, and advocacy. For a list of upcoming member events visit museumfoundation.org. Museum of Indian Arts & Culture/Laboratory of Anthropology 710 Camino Lejo, Santa Fe • 505-476-1269 • indianartsandculture.org New…