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"... he rubbed desert sand over his flesh to purge the stench of captivity."

3/24/2020

Rinconcito is a special little corner in Somos en escrito for short writings: a single poem, a short story, a memoir, flash fiction, and the like.

Two poems of Captivity and Stardust

By Robert René Galván

The Education of Hastiin To’Haali

Kill the Indian, save the man.
- Motto of the Carlisle Indian School, Pennsylvania

He arrived in 1882
in full regalia:
a magnificent mane,
hoop earrings
and a massive
necklace,
shoulders
draped
with a Navajo
blanket,
a face
like a bronze
god’s.
It took four
years
to domesticate
the savage
and he left
the school
as Tom Torlino,
shorn,
dressed
like a dandy,
in a cravat
and coat,
the white
man’s words
on his tongue,
back to Coyote
Canyon
where he rubbed
desert sand
over his flesh
to purge
the stench
of captivity,
resumed
his duties
as medicine man.

Valediction

Dad had earned the right
to be valedictorian of his class
at Fox Tech High,
but it wouldn’t do
to have that brown face
ascend the podium
on that day,
No, sir!
So the principal,
who would lock himself
in his basement office
and play Stardust
on his phonograph
over and over,
and who could be heard
sobbing behind the door,
put another boy in his stead;
After graduation,
Dad went for an interview
downtown, but at the last instant
withdrew his hand
from the doorknob
and walked home
where his mother
told him that the principal
had called while he was out
and had offered him
the one college scholarship
he had to give that year,
perhaps out of a pang
of guilt, which meant
more to Dad than
the speech he had prepared,
and so he went from barefoot
paperboy to grading papers
as he listened to tapes
in his study:

Sometimes I wonder
why I spend the lonely nights
dreaming of a song.

Robert René Galván, born in San Antonio, resides in New York City where he works as a professional musician and poet. His last collection of poems is entitled, Meteors, published by Lux Nova Press. His poetry was recently featured in Adelaide Literary Magazine, Azahares Literary Magazine, Gyroscope, Hawaii Review, Newtown Review, Panoply, Stillwater Review, West Texas Literary Review, and the Winter 2018 issue of UU World. He is a Shortlist Winner Nominee in the 2018 Adelaide Literary Award for Best Poem. Recently, his poems are featured in Puro ChicanX Writers of the 21st Century. He was educated at Texas State University, SUNY Stony Brook and the University of Texas.

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"...being an immigrant’s daughter"

3/15/2020

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Political cartoon from the Chicago Tribune from 1914, Wikipedia.

Two poems from the colonies

By María Lysandra Hernández

oppression: how disney channel
is the best form of neocolonialism

in my high school, we rose in an ocean of plaid skirts and blue vests and placed our palms
over our hearts and tried to stand still, despite the itch of our noses and the passing of notes,
to listen to our anthems before assemblies, meetings, and model UN competitions;

my World History professor told us once before assembly to note the differences between
anthems,
and their hidden words between high notes we made fun once we paraded out the auditorium; I
too,

know the rockets had a red glare–yet my singer’s voice, inherited from my mariachi father, sings
it best; whereas my father’s anthem reveres Mexican cannon’s booms, and the US’s prides
“unlikely” war triumphs, my mother’s La Borinqueña praises the beauty uncovered–like a
bride’s once

unveiled–when finally dis-covered by conquistadors who had never seen such splendor, nor such
beaches, where they could settle and disseminate onto fertile land the will and command of the

Catholic queen; it starts off small, you see, taking symbols (like our uniforms) and calling it
mundane to not stand out but conform among the sea of historical anthems that inflate chests
with pride; and we’re taught how it’s a privilege to sing our anthem now since we couldn’t
before due to

laws like la Ley de Mordaza, law 53 of 1948, that gagged and killed those who carried our azul
celeste flags, those who sang our real anthem and songs, and those who even thought of
breathing

independent air, so now we should be grateful to be able to remember Columbus only wanted
our land for its beauty, be grateful that el Grito de Lares was unsuccessful in reaching
independence, be grateful we sing the United States’ anthem and we can sing the Hannah
Montana theme song

in perfect English and recognize Mickey Mouse before knowing the revolutionary anthem by
Lola Rodríguez de Tió and recognizing our own fallen leaders, we should be grateful that we
receive

American media content across the ocean, too, despite being disenfranchised from voting for the
next CEO of this American franchise, we should be grateful for the orange pedophillic hands that

handed us over paper towels to mop up rivers in our houses, we should be grateful, we should be
grateful, we should be grateful, we should be grateful, we should be grateful, we should be
grateful

the abc’s of being an immigrant’s daughter

agua de jamaica paints my lips and mouth
blood-red, like i’m dead. i find nostalgic
comfort in the broken plastic cup that is
dribbling, dripping down its berry-flavored
esperanza. recall the square i circled around as a
fumbling child? silly child, mumbling the longgone name for a patriarchal figure–broken masthead of family. we were decapitated after the
infernal heat of the immeasurable trek that
jostles spirits. odyssey on desert–not sea–seeking for any
kind hands to feed, caress. yet, only orange ones that
like to poison wells, appear with their ‘oh, wells,’
‘maybe later,’ and ‘bad hombres’ rhetoric. they
never try the exercise of recognizing countries that lie on
opposing continents. why would the people’s president
partake in any education other than indoctrination? why
question the binary of them vs. us? white vs. brown?
really, children of all ages, of all different faces,
seem to have fun: no parents allowed, sleeping in
tenebrous cages, tossing and turning over the hope of the
un-american dream. the eagle saves from villainous
vipers in deserts that slither across illegally
with evil intentions; yet no one mentions the
xoloitzcuintlis’ trips to chaperone the children who
yearned for golden gates, a familiar embrace–
zócalos are now too far to feel like home.

María Lysandra Hernández is a BA Writing, Literature and Publishing student with a minor in Global and Post-colonial Studies at Emerson College. She is currently the Head of Writing at Raíz Magazine, Emerson College’s bilingual and Latinx publication. For more poetry, you can find her on instagram at @marialysandrahern.

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"says I oughtta be ashamed of myself"

3/15/2020

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photo by Scott Duncan-Fernandez

Pass or fail

By Anthony "Glyph" Orozco

The principals say I’m suspended
a recommended 80 days
say I should be ashamed
say the teacher
feared for her safety
say I’m lucky
none of the fists we threw
or desks we flung
landed on her as she jumped between us
say how irresponsible it was
for me to recruit Cesar,
one of the few Mexicans who liked me,
to jump this other kid.

When they leave the room for a moment
Cesar says he’s still high
from smoking
before the bus picked him up
and I say
yeah me too.
After I lie
I think about what
the other kid said
says my mother is like a brick
says she gets laid by dirty Mexicans.

I can hear mama leaving work
breath short and quick
perm tired
keys jangling
quick little steps on linoleum.
When she comes into the office
she is a special shade of red
her brow tight
her mouth a slit.

They tell her everything
about how they heard I attacked the
kid on my own the day before
they were actually calling my name
on the PA system
while Cesar and I turned
first period English
into a pig roast
we have been reading
Lord of the Flies.

Mama listens without blinking.
When they finish
she asks them what they expect
after not doing a thing
after all the years in this school
her son, everyday, gifted
with new and exciting reasons
to be ashamed of himself
for things he can’t change
says this shit would never slide
if he was called nigger
instead of wetback and beaner
and all the other vile stuff I bring home
like some mutated science fair project.

They tell mama,
who is not
a wetback
or a beaner
or a mutated science fair project,
they take bullying very seriously
say I will have to go
to a detention school called
RESCUE
say the only grade I can get
are either a C or F
I can only pass or fail
no in between.

She tells them
her son didn’t pick this fight
says he has to defend himself
as long as they don’t.
She snatches me
out of the office
through the school
across the parking lot
puts me in the car
and says
she loves me
says I oughtta be ashamed of myself.

Anthony "Glyph" Orozco, a Mexican American journalist, poet and performer in Reading, Pennsylvania, has reported on immigrants, Central Americans, Mexicans, first-generation Americans and Afro-Latinos in the Rust Belt for the last seven years. He is also a board member of the community arts group Barrio Alegría, where he leads a bilingual monthly poetry workshop. He hails from a mixed family in Cincinnati, Ohio. His mestizo father came to the U.S. from Chihuahua, Mexico, in the 1980s and his mother’s lineage is traced back to the original 13 colonies and Europe. In his poetry, Anthony examines his indigenous ancestry, bi-cultural identity and eclectic Latino communities.

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POETRY
POESÍA

"... he rubbed desert sand over his flesh to purge the stench of captivity."

Two poems of Captivity and Stardust

By Robert René Galván

"...being an immigrant’s daughter"

Two poems from the colonies

By María Lysandra Hernández

oppression: how disney channel
is the best form of neocolonialism

"says I oughtta be ashamed of myself"

Pass or fail

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POETRY​POESÍA

"... he rubbed desert sand over his flesh to purge the stench of captivity."

Two poems of Captivity and StardustBy Robert René Galván

"...being an immigrant’s daughter"

​​Two poems from the coloniesBy María Lysandra Hernández

oppression: how disney channelis the best form of neocolonialism

"says I oughtta be ashamed of myself"

​Pass or fail

Archives

Categories

HOME INICIO

​ABOUT SOBRE

SUBMIT ENVIAR

​SUPPORT ​APOYAR

Donate and Make Literature Happen

POETRY
POESÍA

Two poems of Captivity and Stardust

By Robert René Galván

Two poems from the colonies

By María Lysandra Hernández

oppression: how disney channel
is the best form of neocolonialism

Pass or fail

ABOUT SOBRE

SUPPORT
APOYAR