I Am Luis
I am Luis.
I am not an alien.
I came from Mexico.
I am Cuauhtémoc too.
I was born in the 60’s.
I speak Spanish.
I speak English too.
Why am I condemned?
You cannot conquest me.
I remember the place
where I came from,
my grandparents,
my aunts, my uncles,
and my cousins.
I see my nephews
and nieces on Facebook.
It has been years
since I crossed the border,
46 years and counting.
A broomstick was
my horse then. My grandparents
died more than 30 years ago.
My father died.
My brother died.
Some of my aunts, uncles,
and cousins died, in Mexico
and in the U.S.A.
I live with their memories.
None of them were
aliens or illegals or wetbacks.
Rendered Void
Look me in the eye
vagabond world.
Journey with me and
let us name all
we don’t understand.
Each step we take in
life must have some
kind of meaning or
we will just be
wasting all our time.
How many lives can
we live, without
passion, without
grace, before life
is rendered void?
Ode to Friends and Mentors
I never lived on campus,
or had friends to discuss
a poem with when I was
young. It was a secret
that I was a poet. Each
night I would read and
write a river of words,
mountains of poems,
better suited to feed
infernos, whose ashes
would pollute the heavens.
Slowly, I found my way
with a few trusted friends
that did not let me down.
They read my words,
a forest of raw materials,
saw promise and critiqued
what needed to be left out.
I have a few books for sale,
trade, or give away. I hear
the wind blow. I see trees
sway and leaves fall.
I read Verlaine in the rain,
Whitman in all seasons.
Who do you read? In my
yard bitter oranges grow,
some are sweet, and some
withered by heat.
Let me tell you a story.
I once lived on an island
in exile, a dead poet walking.
I opened my eyes. I found
a way out. Friends and
mentors sent a boat to
get me off the island.
Safe from oblivion I
flourished in my own way.
Not fearful of sharing words,
I send them out to sink
or swim, but always
reaching for the sun.
