Living brava with Violeta Garza
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Brava is a word with many meanings. It can mean courageous, fierce, strong, intense, and it can also mean good job! Violeta Garza’s debut poetry collection, “Brava,” embodies all definitions and leaves you feeling wilder and braver than you were before.
I spoke with Garza, who was born in Mexico and raised in San Antonio, Texas, over Zoom, and one can’t help but be dazzled by her aura of chingona-ness1chingona: “a woman, especially a Latina, who is strong, independent, competent, intelligent, self-assured, successful.” (dictionary.com) and Mexican pride. She wore rose-tinted glasses and spoke with a beautiful tangle of confidence and vulnerability.
But Garza didn’t always feel confident. Growing up in a traditional Mexican family, she was rewarded for not speaking out. She said her mom did the best she could, but she had a lot of fear, and she was very controlling about Garza’s safety. Between her childhood and the multiple brain injuries — she calls them her constellation of stars — Garza suffered later in life. “I really felt like I was being called to write and share my writing and voice. The universe did not go through all this trouble just so that I could continue being who I was before. It’s time to live more boldly and out loud,” Garza said.
Bold is an understatement for what Garza has created. “Brava” is an anthem to self-love, growth, shedding, and a return to home, physically, mentally and mystically.
I began our conversation asking why Garza chose the title “Brava.”
Brava can mean bravery, strength or fierceness, and is also meant to applaud something well done. What is it for you? Why “Brava”?
A lot of people think of their books as children. For me, she’s my tía. She’s the one who would take me in and tell me about my period before it happens. She inspires me to speak out in ways that are not as comfortable for me in real life, because of my background. When I have that feeling of, I want to be brava, I want to be confrontational, I want to be feisty, I want to be aggressive. I want to speak up for myself in a way that makes others uncomfortable. I feel like you get rewarded, at least internally, when you speak your truth.
I felt like “Brava” was a love letter to yourself. There were themes of return, self-acceptance, body love and shifts. Does that resonate with you?
Absolutely. I have been very hard on myself over my lifetime in terms of my intellect and body image, at times rejecting being Mexicana, being Latina.
To me, “Brava” is all about different forms of home, whether it’s family, relationships or our own bodies. I wanted to celebrate the person I am and all her flaws. It could have only happened through poetry for me, and it could have only happened after the brain injuries.
I may be limited, but there’s a lot that I can still do for myself, and I am able to do it through memory, through resilience, and through family connections. They’re more cosmic. I specifically wrote the poem “aires aires y más desaires” two to three years ago to the current version of myself. All the things I wanted back then, I’ve accomplished now, and I’m sending love. And then I’m looking to my future self, my higher self, and she’s like, “Yep, there are other things waiting for you, so just keep going.”
One of my favorite poems in this collection is “Bless This Inconvenient Body”, and one of my favorite lines is “now that i am finally claiming / my chingona crown of nopales and prickly pear.”
I wanted an image that really stood out, especially with the word chingona, which I love. It does sometimes get overused, but it is so emblematic of that spirit of “I belong here. I can take up space. I am who I am.” Now, I’m like, “Bitches, I am here. You don’t have to like it. And if you don’t, you can just go to your little corner, and I’ll go to mine. It’s fine, it’s okay.” There were times that I put being Mexican in the background a little bit. But now, I am who I am. I love speaking Spanish. I love code-switching with my partner. I love listening to Juan Gabriel. Why would I ever turn my back on that? So for me, that image of the chingona crown is bicultural and bilingual. Nopales and prickly pear. It’s acknowledging both sides of me, but also elevating the Mexican part of me.
“UNO DOS TRES UVALDE” is powerful. You live in Texas. How and when were you able to write this one?
Uvalde’s not far from San Antonio. I’m a part of a poetry group called Wyrdd Writers, and one of our members is the poetry editor of Arts Alive San Antonio. It was so horrific that it happened at all, but then the response — had it been a rich white school, that response would not have happened. I understand that until you’re in that situation, you may not know how to react. However, they let these brown children die. I kept thinking about what I would have done. In my mind, I feel like I would have intervened, but I don’t know. It’s very maddening. I wanted to write something that honored the experience. That spoke to an alternate universe where that didn’t happen at all, and these babies are still with their families. It is so unfortunate that this is where we are, and I wanted to honor them somehow.
What are your thoughts about writing poetry in the Trump era?
Sometimes it does feel frivolous, and I think several of us poets behind closed doors in private conversations have mentioned similar things, like, ‘What am I even doing?’ However, when I asked Lupe Mendez, former Texas Poet Laureate, he said how Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz and Roque Dalton lived hard because they only had so much time, and they made every second count. So, if they could do it, why not me?
This is also for my ancestors. This is for all their sacrifices — for all those family members that had the magic and creativity but were not able to do it on their own; I’m honoring the past. Lupe was thinking ahead to the future. We need to document what’s happening right now, because in the future, people are going to look back on this time and ask, “How did they react? How did they respond? What did they do to try to prevent this? How did they survive in this insane environment?”
Lastly, tell me which poem is your favorite? I know they’re all your tías, but which one is your favorite tía?
It shifts. It used to be “A Veces Me Pongo Brava,” but when the book came out, “Comadre” was the one that spoke to people. This poem was born at a time when I was very isolated and lonely, and I just wanted a bestie. I also really enjoy “La Tiendita” and “Future Vigil for a Generational Wound.” I want to honor my tías, my abuelitas, my tatarabuelas. All of them.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
– Story by Lorena Ortiz
– Copy edited by Valerie Izquierdo and Kami Waller
Lorena Ortiz is a Mexican American fiction writer born in California. Her work has been published in PenDust Radio, The Acentos Review, Latino Book Review and Konch Magazine. She has been supported by VONA, Tin House, Macondo and Kenyon, and she is a 2025 Periplus Fellow. Lorena currently lives in Washington, D.C., and shares a home with her husband, her mother, her 11-year-old daughter, an adored black cat and a few young adult children who come and go as they please.
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