Tag: Luisa A. Igloria

When will you get a job? So happy for you. This
is only the beginning. Make sure you go out
and get a really good job. When I was half your age
I didn’t mind walking half an hour to the next town
to go to school. Sometimes I had no shoes. Now I can see
a big mansion in your future; many kids. A loving wife,
several cars in your garage. Maybe a room for me.
Vacations. Maids. Pah, you have never lived life
until you have been pampered by maids. Your wife
will appreciate this. You will never have to pull weeds
in the garden. Someone will come and do it for you.
What do you mean you don’t want a mansion or several cars?
Did you not major in accounting? What is this thing
Liberal Arts? No matter. The important thing is
you have this piece of paper with gold letters
and a seal. It is like a passport, this. Trust me.
But these days you will also need to make friends
and influence people. Almost like you will need
a letter from the king underneath this guarantee.
Under every story of success is a ladder. Remember
what I tell you now: look at all the helping hands.
But there are also many hands that will try to pull
you down; sadly, I know. That is also part of our story.

In response to Via Negativa: Public Relations.

“Ten thousand joys, ten thousand sorrows— which are more beautiful…”

~ Nic S.

During the Great Depression, the countryside
was full of them— stooped over rows of asparagus,
garlic, and strawberries; elbow-deep in scales
and guts as salmon silvered conveyor belts,
carpeted the canning factory floor. Every so often
a hand— maybe a finger— nicked by blades
cutting fast: for industry is virtue and the harvest
of all these great American dreams, warmed by the sun
and striped fat with flavor, must be gleaned.
Pasteurized, purchased, they leap from farm
and river to waiting tables so in iconic paintings,
rosy-cheeked children can bow their heads in prayer
over clean porcelain and heavy silverware,
while their elders pass lakes of mashed potato
and the bronzed carcass of a bird from hand
to hand. In greasy spoon diners and fast
food places across town, look closely
at the face of the lonely busboy wiping down
the oily counter, at the waitress who’s just
learned English, balancing a pot of coffee
and a tray of dirty dishes in her hands.

In response to Via Negativa: Unmentionable One.

Here is the fog this morning that blankets all
then lifts— See? there are the boats, lanterns

on the pier, rooftops coming into view: proof
that given a chance, a change in weather,

some things come back— Or never really left.
That’s why the monk bows a blessing, and the beggar

whispers thanks or fuck you; even the light bulb
sputters, the filament cracks when the light goes out.

These things shouldn’t be difficult to notice; or
I like to think nothing’s ever forsaken for long.

In response to Via Negativa: How to Live.

When is this window going to open? Damn right
we’ve been here for a while: gotten up well
before the crack of dawn, stood on the sidewalk
swatting clouds of mosquitoes biting our ankles;
followed instructions, taken a number, filled in
all the boxes and answered ridiculous questions
as patiently as possible— When was your most
recent return from a non-democratic country
in the last five years? Do you think blintzes
are superior to crepes? Why are you traveling
to Marseilles by yourself? Where is your man-
friend or escort? Why do you think only a small
percentage of the population makes
over $125,000 a year? Do you have anything
of value to declare? What day is it? What century?
Above the vacant counter, the clock ticks next
to a faded poster reminding every citizen to file
returns. Everyone’s clerk to the crown, floor
custodian in the hierarchy— but regent
and sovereign of his own retinue of pain.

In response to Via Negativa: Warp.

In response to Via Negativa: On the Contrary.

but fire in the body, joy in the bones—
Heresy of a state that, having grown tired
of hate and bullets, must plot
the overthrow of all false forms of discipline
except the dream of wings
flying over the fields, dispensing
letters, books, music, poems,
paper leaflets shaped like clouds.

In response to Via Negativa: The Radish Gospel.