N u e v @ C h i c a n @ P o e t i c s

2

P R E G U N T A S

33

© poxo 2013 All rights reserved. Permission to reproduce any of the illustrations or written works, except for brief quoted text, must be obtained in writing from the indi-

Cover Art: rendering of chicharra exoskeleton Printed in El Valle, Tejas second printing Presented for the National Association For Chicana and Chicano Studies, March 2013

A C K N O W L E D G E M E N T S

“Mexicans Without Means” published in ¿WHAT’S IN A

NOMBRE? Writing Latin@ Identity in America: phati'tude Literary

Magazine.

“xicanismo haikus” published in Sagebrush Review: Literary and Art

Journal.

“Si te digo frontera” and “Mi lengua” published by Asociación

Cultural Myrtos, Andalucia, Spain 2010.

32

Rossy Evelin Lima, creative writer and linguist. Her poetry book Ecos de

Barro, will be published this year with a forward by the Mexican writer

Dolores Castro Varela. She has been published in five anthologies; La ruta

de los juglares. McAllen: TX, 2007. Letras en el estuario. Matamoros: Méxi-

co, 2008. Antología: La mujer rota. Guadalajara: Jalisco, 2008. El Retorno:

Our Serpent’s Tongue. Edinburg: TX, 2012. Along the River II. Rio

Grande Valley: TX, 2012. Rossy has been published in various literary

magazines and journals in the United States, Mexico and Spain such as 3D3

Revista de Creación, Asociación Cultural Myrtos. Andalucía: Spain, 2010.

Negritud. Atlanta: GA. 2012. Trajín Literario. Xochimilco: Mexico. 2012.

Hartz No. 22. Madrid: Spain, 2012, among others.She received the Gabriela

Mistral Award by the National Hispanic Honor Society on 2009. First place

in the poetry contest 2o Coloquio Estudiantil at the University of Texas

Pan-American, 2010 and first place in the poetry contest Certamen literario

José Arrese, 2011. First Place in the VAO Publishing's Annual Along the

River Poetry Award, 2012.

Christopher Carmona is a beat poet following in the tradition of beat poets

like Jack Kerouac, Bob Kaufman, and Raul Salinas. He was a nominee for

the Alfredo Cisneros de Miral Foundation Award for Writers in 2011 and a

Pushcart Prize nominee in 2012. He has been published in numerous jour-

nals and magazines including vandal., Bordersenses, and The Sagebrush

Review. He has a collection of poetry called beat by Slough Press and his

second, I Have Always Been Here is due for publication late 2013. He is

also editing a Beat Texas anthology called The Beatest State In The Union:

An Anthology of Beat Texas Writings with Chuck Taylor and Rob John-

son. Currently he is organizer of the Annual Beat Poetry and Arts Festival.

Gabriel Sanchez is a writer and poet from the Rio Grande Valley, South

Texas. He is a graduate of the University of Texas Pan American and also a

publisher under the name "The Raving Press". His poetry is at times histor-

ical, political and edgy and is featured in spoken word events and online.

Isaac Chavarría is a pocho with an MFA in Creative Writing from the Uni-

versity of Texas-Pan American. He enjoys assisting non-profit organiza-

tions in producing chapbooks for workshop participants. His poems are in

The Acentos Review and Rio Grande Review online. Ultimately, he hopes

the term pocho will represent a positive identity rather than a pejorative.

B I O G R A P H I E S

3

1

W H E R E I S T H E C H I C A N @ M O V E M E N T N O W ?

2

H O W D I D T H E C O N C E P T O F N U E V @ C H I C A N @ P O E T I C S B E G I N ?

3

W H O I S T H E N U E V @ C H I C A N @

4

W H E R E I S T H E N U E V @ C H I C A N @ P O E T I C S H E A D E D ?

4

31

la Chicharra nace en la tierra,

como la historia del chicanismo,

sale de la tierra

y hace un ruido

que se escucha a mucha distancia,

como la repercusion

del movimiento chicano,

y despues surge

como un nuevo ser:

Nuev@ Chican@ Poetics!!!

A N O T E A B O U T T H E C O V E R

pictured is the exoskeleton of Quesada giga, the Giant Cicada/

Chicharra Grande. This species is abundant in the rio grande valley,

and has a historical range within south texas.

for the first four years of their lifecycle the Chicharra Grande is

underground as an immature insect partly nurtured by feeding on

Huisache tree roots.

Huisache as well is a tree commonly found in south texas.

I . C

R . E . L . P

30

c.c is Christopher Carmona

mexicans without means, 6

on the day i was born, 19

xicanismo haiku, 23

g.h.s is Gabriel Hugo Sanchez

The Dead Chicano, 8

Nature of the Beast, 9

The Wall is Coming Down, 12

r.e.l.p is Rossy Evelin Lima Padilla

El canon de literatura inmigrane/chicana en Estados Unidos, 13

Mi Lengua, 18

Si te digo frontera, 21

Miel de mezquite, 26

i.c is Isaac Chavarría

un frontera pocho en san Antonio, 15

even chicanos, 27

C O N T E N T S

5

R E S P U E S T A S

6

1

29

Over the 40+ year history of the Chican@ movements, there has

been many shifting identities as well as approaches to literature and art. In

the 1960s the fledgling movement first established Chicano as an identity

for Mexican Americans, then the necessary voices of Chicanas in the 1970s,

80s, and 90s emerged to helm the movement, and today a current new

group has an even wider base of inclusion. Originally, the Chican@ identity

was only reserved for Mexican Americans, but as more Central and South

Americans integrate into “American” society, they have begun to share an

affinity with the Chican@ identity and combine their experience with the

Mexican American and create a different style of poetry, literature, and art.

Also because of the current political atmosphere both in the United States

(anti-Latin@ policies and sentiments) and Mexico (the Drug War

atmosphere), a new poetic form has emerged. Over the past 5 years,

Chican@ (both Chicano and Chicana combined) poetics has had a great

resurgence in interest and publication. There is a growing number of poetry

readings, chapbooks, magazine publications, and CDs of Latin@ writers

who have begun to identify with the political aspirations of the Chican@

movement. This project asks the questions: What has triggered such an

interest in Chican@ in recent times? What types of poetry, writing, and art

is being created and what are the social factors that have led to a new

Chican@ poetics?

N U E V @ S V O C E S P O E T I C A S : A D I A L O G U E A B O U T N E W C H I C A N @ P O E T I C S

C . C

28

get asco

at a prieto

complexion

and light siblings

even chicanos

visit pocho-

land-

and don’t come back

even chicanos

hide behind

jesus, maiden

names, and peacocks

even chicanos

chug budweiser

screaming mother

¿por qué no me visitas?

even chicanos

marry mexicanas

own two kids

and live complacently

ever after

I . C

E V E N

7

They say April is the cruelest month

well it certainly was for one white boy

on a Spring Break trip in the last year of 1980

found in a ditch on a Matamoros ranch

his name splashed across newspapers and television screens for years

but this poem is not about that boy

this poem is about the 14 other Mexicans in that shallow grave

whose eyelids have been eaten away by grub worms

revealing nothing but mud and the bottom of boots

tongues long ago cut off and sacrificed to the gods of popular media

their names only worth the space of a number: 14.

They were Mexicanos sin nombre.

Or maybe August is the cruelest month

when 26 migrants were found locked in a railroad car

broiled to death in a desert land where even the air burns

but not before they paid Coyote everything for a chance

to work 12 hrs a day stealing jobs Americans forget ever existed

They work in order to feed families left behind

certainly not before their towns were decimated by mass production

and the lowest price cost analysis

They were Mexicanos sin dinero.

Or maybe the cruelest month is October

when a visiting Colorado man was “killed by Mexican pirates”

while his wife watched in horror

his body never recovered

Her shock heard round the world from early morning news program to early

morning news program

Mexican pirates are worse than Caribbean pirates

No Johnny Depp here looking like a gay Keith Richards on acid.

This man was just another innocent casualty in the Mexican Drug Wars

A war Heartland America has nothing to do with

Just vacationing in its waters while the river wash away 50,000 dead

no names

no space for memory

no thoughts more than a passing pity

no voices one tongue speaks for them

nothing but laser fences and shaking heads.

They are just Mexicanos sin causa.

M E X I C A N S W I T H O U T M E A N S

8

C . C

But lets not forget about January

where a vanished woman lost her hand and her life

launching her voice and her body

into the war for equality

no soldiers funeral for her

no folded flag

no 21 gun salute

she fought a war of insurmountable odds with only her ideas and her tongue

she stood at the frontlines of every woman’s rights

shoulder’s straight fists clenched

conviction in her eyes.

She slung poems at the abyss and marked her words with blood

She gave her soul to the wind hoped that she would be felt

Yet, there she lies in a dumpster filled with yesterday’s rage

her left hand taken a warning to all

No national Susana Chavez holiday

No patriotic swelling of eyes for this soldier of change

who helped shape this world for the better

Just a few words from a few papers

Mexican woman risked it all so that a girl could walk the streets

without fear of being taken violated left like yesterday’s facebook post.

She was just a Mexicana sin luz.

Or maybe it was May when little Brisena Flores was swallowed whole

leaving a mother wondering why bullet have you feasted on such young flesh

but the bullet knew it is not the physics of combustible powders

the spark of metal on metal

it is the force of a finger pulling hatred and righteousness

because Mexican flowers can’t bloom in Arizona

they simply don’t have the means.

Little Brisena did not die without her name

she was buried on the tenth page of the paper of record

no Today Show special for a mother left without husband daughter

no 24 hour news cycle repeating the tragedy of a little girl’s death

nothing for Mexicans without means.

27

Me sabe a miel de mezquite esta casa

y a sobrevivencia el mundo que no habito,

donde yo me encuentro

se pierde la sonrisa del amigo

para convertirse en cerca

en desierto

en río.

Se confunden las lenguas

y el color cambia con la aurora.

Somos una mezcla,

un cantar al unísono.

Y mi letra es tuya

y en tu voz soy yo la que grita.

¿Cuándo podremos cantar la música de todos?

tú y yo solos,

separados por una lengua

una piel

un grito.

R . E . L . P

M I E L D E M E Z Q U I T E

26

poets were killed on the day after

conquest of the indios

can’t have colonized minds reading.

dreaming and reading make me write and sing

no stringed instruments or airy notes

just mi voz quiet like a lion purring for the pride.

cinco

karakawas guerreros danced on South Padre beaches

mextiso children sell chiclet’s on concrete bridges

los flores reynosa e matamoros progresso mcallen and brownsville

driving down 281 in buick skylark with purple clouds

dancing with bright sunshine and windows

rolled down breeze on the cuff of my sleeve.

bats in the bark sucking sweet nectar

from nefarious looking grapefruit tree

dad with a shovel SPLAT!!! last sound on radar.

greened coke bottle filled with water

very dry on the other side

grandpa says it keeps the dead quenched.

tlacuache running on my roof slips and spills

can hear scurrying no more

now on ground with lost footing ego bruised.

torn summer swing rocking back and forth across America

cold and dripping sugary raspa

red plastic straws stabbing holes for memories to fill.

C . C 9

Este Chicano

Man of letters…and guayaberas

Little hat sitting on his head

Cool…little leaf fluttering in the wind

He reads poems to ears that hear

gas-pffft! (puro pedo!)

Flatulence flowing from this man

From his mouth, fajita hole!

Dead Chicano

Dead! Chingado!

He’s reading his own obituary

He’s reading his sad soliloquy

Because he never knew

The tenderness of being loved

In this world he never fit

His heart too big too cosmic

We are ants here, little brown man

Chingate el mustache

Someone else is driving your car

But thanks for building it.

It’s a nice car, for everyone else

…But you

Dead Chicano Poet

Die now your ghost y cai-fine!

Your ashes sit in a jar

Propping up books

That talk about you

T H E D E A D C H I C A N O

G . H . S

10

Where are the poets of America?

Who’s talking of our realities

Are we broken mirrors unable to present the full view

Relegated to talking of cocks and cunts

Of haloed angels roaming the streets

Getting Jack-ed-off On The Road

Only hinting at a discontent

Where were those heroes of American poetry

When the Fox network declared that we were the enemy

That we are illegal

That we are criminal

O’rielly don’t embrace no colored man no matter how patriotic

And where were the heroes of poetic America

When they said we invaded as if war hungry monsters bent on destruction

Who started this war?

If not the middle of the nation where the meat-n-potatoes started

Tastin’ better cuz the Mexcuns were tilling the soil at slave wages but then wanted

to bring their mothers and their fathers and their sisters and their brothers and

The All-American boys strapped on their hoods in a panic,

in a violent Minute

Calling themselves patriotic,

tragic figures out on the quest to “preserve” America

And they do it happily if it will quash a lowly immigrant in the Arizona dessert

Or drown the down-trodden in the toxic waters of the Rio Grande stream

Fighting as if for anything other than a nation of immigrants…

Who called this war America?

Who if not you, for you started all wars that have torn us apart

Who started the War On Drugs

If not America in the intent to flood the Negro streets with crack cocaine

Who started the war on illegal immigration

Though ragged sailors were your fathers

Who crossed a larger stream

Yet they didn’t apply for no citizenship

And they didn’t ask but took

And they didn’t work for all but for themselves

And they didn’t first build on what was here but first destroyed

And then hung up bows and arrows on their air conditioned walls as relics of a for-

N A T U R E

25

I cannot afford it!

tres

sitting in the corner

dunce cap on

father, why speak Spanish in class?

dressed for Saturday night

my sister’s quincenera

she is a woman for tonight.

cactus nopal cactus nopal

prickly spines in my nalgas

oh ancient plant I cannot love you!

mom spins cures from grandma’s hands

spider webs for stitches

aloe vera for soothing a coke for headache.

fajitas on the (mex)quite grill

beers in my tios’ hands

tripas in the ground it’s Saturday night!

cuatro

susto got me in my sleepwalk

can’t wake me up

might kill my dream in mid-belief.

I’ve never had mal ojo

my grandma says

never let bad thoughts inside.

raining, pelting, hailing outside my bathroom

not like Mary on Sunday

more like Jesus hanging on velvet cross.

24

uno

lechuza on a high wire

a sparking transformer

the air waves sing in static

a crying woman has drowned

her children in a river

my ears hide behind shut I’s.

darkness spills out a crack

my closet door ajar

el cucuy el cucuy whispers in the dark.

devil at the baile

cool red jacket

dancing all night long on hooved heels.

as I lay sleeping

bed made of dreams

a huevo hides under my bed.

dos

the rio grande river

redundant name

my home mi frontera mi tierra

indios and spaniards both

in line at the checkout

speaking neither tongue.

mexican american chican@

I like winter stand between

summer and spring NO FALL!

bless me grandma

I am not catholic

X I C A N I S M O

11

gone era as if saying “Ah, fate. She is a fickle lady.”

And an Indian shed a tear on the TV and you thought wow that was the Ingun

way, so in touch with mother Earth that they would cry if they saw the garbage in

the streets

America you are obsessed with war

You have declared war on I-literacy

But the dead presidents make no tours down to the barrios and the ghettos

And the schools barely have paint on the walls

And the teachers don’t teach but indoctrinate

And the history is absent and Columbus is a hero

And slavery was an ugly chapter but that’s the past, right?

And reverse racism is real, you try being a white in an America where all the top

positions go to the blacks and browns and yellows and reds

And the ghettos are virtually non-existent because Affirmative Action has eradicat-

ed poverty

And the jails hold equal numbers of whites and colored and—WAIT!

This America doesn’t exist

Here in America War pervades-there’ll never be peace

THIS is America love it or leave it…

Or change it

But with change always travels conflict

And so the war isn’t over, America

The war on war has just started.

G . H . S

12

2

23

4

22

Si te digo Frontera

te tendré que pronunciar con llanto

por haber corrido con suerte,

con la llave de carne con la que me abrí paso

por entre los mezquites

dejando en ellos mi vestido.

Mojándome los labios salitrosos,

sabiendo que no te quiero pronunciar,

escuchando el sonar del río que te hace virgen

que me hace confusa de pensamiento

extraña, torcida y con anhelo.

Si te digo frontera

tendré también que gritar “muerte”

tres veces más, sentadita en tu orilla.

Honda, ya no me abras los ojos.

S I T E D I G O

R . E . L . P 13

The wall is coming to town

Gonna slice through

South Texas ground

Sharp, lethal, Romanesque

Gonna wound the flesh

Of victims that seek to pass

Cutting through this land

That is our home

Like an obsidian knife

Tearing through our chest

Searching to stop that heart

That beats with the movements of millennia

Migrations of our past

Are echoed in migrations of our present

The lives of men are destined

To a constant ebb and flow

No legality rules the movements

No right or wrong defines the action

Nature must take its course

Or there will eventually be war…

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[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[

[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[(OR)]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

Atrocities that make

The spirit rebel

Like hunting illegals

In the desert like snakes

Or shooting bullets

At a man holding rocks

Calling it self-defense

(but you neglect to state

that he never threw at you, Mr. Migra!)

The wall is coming to town

Indeed not because we want it

Indeed not because we need it but because

Racism’s destiny is still manifest

The wall is coming down on us

THE WALL IS COMING DOWN!

T H E W A L L I S C O M I N G D O W N

G . H . S

14

El canon tiene dos formas, una medida implícita y otra explicita. Este

concepto se aplica a la literatura inmigrante/chicana en los Estados Unidos de la

siguiente forma. La medida explicita se puede palpar en las diversas antologías,

revistas de literatura, clases a nivel universitario y ponencias académicas en los

diferentes congresos de literatura escrita por hispanos en el país. Aquí vemos la

norma del arte verbal, la manera en la que se extienden las preferencias hacia una

literatura que refleje y que represente al hispano/latino en el gremio. La manera

explícita del canon de la literatura hispana en Estados Unidos nos habla de nuestro

pasado, y al validar nuestra narrativa nos ofrece la visión de un futuro en el que

nuestra presencia literaria no será ignorada. El canon, o las particularidades que

tienen en común las antologías, los libros publicados y las revistas literarias

hispanas en el país, entre otros, forman la base para los autores emergentes.

Sobretodo, las obras compiladas en estos medios nos permiten escuchar nuestra

historia por medio de la voz familiar, una voz que se parece a la nuestra y que nos

representa como tal. La publicación de obras hispanas en antologías de prestigio

como la Norton Anthology of Latino Literature, por casas editoriales de renombre

como Oxford, o por universidades como el programa Recovery de Arte Público

Press, elevan la literatura hispana y la colocan al alcance de las personas. De esta

manera sitúa al hispano para su reconocimiento social en un lugar donde se había

rezagado su existencia.

El canon explicito, es la reconstrucción de la historia de un grupo, en este

caso el hispano en Estados Unidos; una reconstrucción hecha por la elite académica

o literaria, que refleja un criterio y que tiene que llenar las expectativas de lo que es

hispano ante el resto de la sociedad. En mi opinión, el canon explicito, aunque

necesario para el avance del arte literario, basa sus normas en la interpretación de lo

que “es” hispano o chicano y cómo se maneja en el texto, más que en la selección de

textos de calidad escritos por hispanos. Es decir, el canon busca la uniformidad, la

congruencia dentro de los textos que incluye en sus antologías, la similitud en la

problemática político social que proyecta en las revistas y el impacto emocional que

E L C A N O N D E L I T E R A T U R A

21

but not before a dream was sung of a redheaded

stranger who would take everything from him

on the day that I was born

my first ancestor was created out of death and rape

his tongue was forbidden his native language

his hands forced to bleed production of cotton, corn, and Christianity

while his native mother spoke her stories dressed in European images

and asked to never forget that this might be a conquered land

but our spirit and body will always be free

as long as we dream sing and whisper our stories

to our children’s children Coyolxauhqui will know

whose eye to cry her tear into before the angels can plant their soul.

on the day that I was born

I cried for the first time

and have never stopped since.

C . C

20

on the day that I was born

the angels came to plant my soul

but Coyolxauhqui got there first

and cried a tear into my ear

so that I would forever dream in verse

on the day that I was born

we lived on Silver Street

while Columbus sailed the ocean blue

and chicharras sung their warning song

that the waves were bringing death, blood, and sickness

closer and closer to the shore

on the day that I was born

8-tracks played Iron Butterfly

my dad sped down dark streets

rushing to meet me for the first time

while Roque Dalton stared down a

perspiring barrel wet with anticipation

and his last words were

you may kill me here today but don’t say my name because I will come out of the ground

and live forever in the words I have written and you will never be able to stop saying my

name.

on the day that I was born

my mother took me in her arms

and spoke my name for the first time

not for my father or the Catholic saint of travellers

but for a little boy she knew who always

introduced himself—Christopher Richard

and as she lay in that steel hospital bed

thousands of indias had their wombs

stolen by the icy metallic hands of genocide

calling itself medicine and wellness

on the day that I was born

the last VW bug rolled off the production line

putting an end to the Hippie era while

Moteuczoma massacred thousands of dreamers

when he took power because

there is nothing more powerful than dreams

O N T H E D A Y

15

crea la narrativa de abuso, maltrato y sobrevivencia que se enseña en el currículo

académico. ¿Son estos parámetros los únicos que encontramos en la literatura

hispana en general?, ¿Ofrece el canon de la literatura hispana la revalidación del

arte literario hispano en el canon de la literatura mainstream del país? En mi

opinión, la literatura hispana va más allá de los temas subrayados y el canon de la

literatura hispana no promueve su integración a la literatura dominante o

mainstream.

El canon implícito dictamina que los poetas inmigrantes o chicanos deben

de hablar de su “realidad” para ser tomados en cuenta, así como he visto que al

poeta chicano se le toma en cuenta cuando habla sobre sus raíces mexicanas y su

derecho al reconocimiento social. El canon implícito define lo hispano y chicano, los

guía hacia la producción de obras que entren dentro de sus parámetros. Como

escritora, esto me preocupa ya que el 80% de mi obra no contiene temas

evidentemente político-sociales sobre mi condición inmigrante. Si bien no pienso

que este filtro sea cien por ciento perjudicial, sí opino que frena la libre expresión de

ideas. ¿La narrativa es considerada de inmigración o chicana porque toca temas y

esta escrita en un estilo particular, o porque es escrita por un inmigrante o chicano?

¿La narrativa es hispana porque la escriben hispanos, o porque el canon dice que

ciertas narrativas representan lo hispano?

El escritor inmigrante o chicano se representa a sí mismo; su expresión,

siempre cambiante y circular igual que la historia, envuelve la realidad del escritor

y debe ser validada como una nueva forma de expresión literaria, no bajo el

escrutinio y dictamen del canon y sus formas preconcebidas y estáticas. La calidad

eminente de la literatura hispana debe de marcar las bases canónicas, no viceversa.

R . E . L . P

16

pregunta:

dónde está the no

license, fly by noche

taquerías, tex-mex buffet

piratas hawked by

chicas en

mini-faldas.

y

mom?

still paranoid

nunca se queda

sentada

quier hacer

to-

do

o

como encuentro

el chisme de un paletero

corn en un vaso

y midnight

raspas?

respuesta:

¿quién sabe?

but stop by

la alameda and market

square.

tal vez encuentras

cacahuate japonés,

un gansito de chocolate

photos of Mexican

placas

pero aplácate

con las morenitas

U N F R O N T E R A P O C H O

19

Me descalzaste

escaldando mis pies con tu amargo afán,

voy oliendo como perra ciega

el humo de una tierra que no me verá volver.

Voy buscando desperdigada un techo que me acoja.

Me lapidas, me desgranas

y con asfalto cincelas

tu maldición en mi presencia invisible.

Mi lengua quedó atada a tu orilla

y ahí, pesada, la vas ahogando

con tu agrio idioma sectario.

Mi lengua se ha hecho de víbora,

bifurcada te leo firme, con mi acento residente:

“Todas las palabras se comprenden

en este amasijo de lenguas y verdades”

Listones de agua me pusiste,

hilos de agua para que muriera en tu orilla

Frontera, línea maldita

en tu suelo siembro mis hijos.

M I L E N G U A

R . E . L . P

18

3

17

and during lunch

in Milam Park

cierra tus ojos

y será como Reynosa,

español sin acentos

los carros alrededor

gritando tu nombre.

I . C