English 137T

1. Like wet cornstarch,I slide past my grandmother's eyes. Bible at her side, she removes her glasses. The pudding thickens. Mama raised me without language. I'm orphaned from my Spanish name. The words are foreign, stumbling on my tongue. I see in the mirror my reflection: bronzed skin, black hair. I feel I am a captive aboard the refugee ship. The ship that will never dock. El barco que nunca atraca.

"Refugee Ship" by Lorna Dee Cervantes, from the book, "Emplumada"

2. Once a refuge for Mexican Californios… —plaque outside a restaurant in Los Altos, California, 1974. These older towns die into stretches of freeway. The high scaffolding cuts a clean cesarean across belly valleys and fertile dust. What a bastard child, this city lost in the soft llorando de las madres. Californios moan like husbands of the raped, husbands de la tierra, tierra la madre…

"Poema Para Los Californios" by Lorna Dee Cervantes, from the book "Emplumada"

3. México, I look for you all day in the streets of Oaxaca. The children run to me, laughing, spinning me blind and silly. They call to me in words of another language. My brown body searches the streets for the dye that will color my thoughts. But México gags, ¡Esputa! on this bland pochaseed. I didn't ask to be brought up tonta! My name hangs about me like a loose tooth. Old women know my secret, "Es la culpa de los antepasados." Blame it on the old ones. They give me a name that fights me

"Oaxaca 1974" by Lorna Dee Cervantes from the book "Emplumada"

4. She built her house, cocky, disheveled carpentry, after living twenty-five years with a man who tried to kill her. Grandma, from the hills of Santa Barbara, I would open my eyes to see her stir mush in the morning, her hair in loose braids, tucked close around her head with a yellow scarf. Mama said, "It's her own fault, getting screwed by a man for that long. Sure as shit wasn't hard." soft she was soft

"Beneath the Shadow of the Freeway" by Lorna Dee Cervantes from the book, "Emplumada"

5. "You're too soft…always were. You'll get nothing but shit. Baby, don't count on nobody."  —a mother's wisdom. Soft. I haven't changed, maybe grown more silent, cynical on the outside. "O Mama, with what's inside of me I could wash that all away. I could." "But Mama, if you're good to them they'll be good to you back." Back. The freeway is across the street. It's

"Beneath the Shadow of the Freeway" by Lorna Dee Cervantes from the book, "Emplumada"

6. Come down and die with me. as lacquer shades our lack. and people walk off subways limning the wound as our bodies mere bodies salivating syllables no longer citizens of silence now saluting the side streets sending salvos to missing siblings becoming city's augury through distances as rats cross sidewalks like dark merchandise or toxins seeping through the capital

"Alphabet City" by Urayoan Noel from the book "Buzzing Hemispheres"

7. as before cloudbursts draping every feature grimey heaven's immigrant joy knotted long metal nooses outcast posses quickly rivaled streaming traitors useful violence weekend xenophobia yankees zigzagging

"Alphabet City" by Urayoan Noel from the book "Buzzing Hemispheres"

8. alas big cruelties deejays everywhere freestyle gutters haberdasher isotope jars killyjoy landlocked musicians nursing outsized pastiches quirk rally sun tropics upended village wreckage x-men yes-men zombies

"Alphabet City" by Urayoan Noel from the book "Buzzing Hemispheres"

9. come down with me. its midnight in the banking centers and nothing is stirring on the trade routes nothing more than topsoil founds this prophecy these boulevards in shards this untracked form this memory of water our planet found dry our birthright is a metal. with no foundry a language unfounded a web a womb a tombic zone perhaps a road a door ajar a wordless sermon in the wireless morning of the shared mired

"Alphabet City" by Urayoan Noel from the book "Buzzing Hemispheres"

10. The street is occupied-- who'll itemize the broken skies? Sorrow of flags the day you di in leased home theaters only to be reborn in struggle like a boldface cry Yours is the blue warble of chant after the dialectics Only the clouds have parted you step into the din The day you died-- I heard a fly buzz

"Heaves of Storm" by Urayoan Noel from the book "Buzzing Hemispheres"

11. Between lieutenants and landowners there is another way of owning To fix one's stare to name the stony ground to examine the logic of sieges and to obey the opposite The wind is a contrarian and yet there is a plan here after the ill-fated deed Your voice booms across the hemisphere filtering the convulsed twilight out to the armor-plate face of the moon

"Heaves of Storm" by Urayoan Noel from the book "Buzzing Hemispheres"

12. the cut on your lip-- the sweat drips-- who dreams of this? the tirades the police cars technopolis on fire the high-end mask reveals the hollow sneer of the undercover stiffs

"Heaves of Storm" by Urayoan Noel from the book "Buzzing Hemispheres"

13. In Tennessee you have phone book. You use me? Sucks. In still get friends. One before leaving bro. For me an ass off. Send me and send the info. You know me and in the me. Las Vegas us. Doing with the mall the sodas. Progress sucks. Yeah C.C. on outside. Moscone Center. When you get up, do you do me and? So you know an inconvenience ass kicker sucks. Email to the animal so Karen see there. This this will see you. Benefit added. Do you think it's a matter of cream and be there? Any and go for me tomorrow. Read about this. Cancel me? Too funny! I'm gonna be there Get on some you. I love you there. In bunny rabbits

"You have Nice Weather" by Urayoan Noel from the book "Buzzing Hemispheres"

14. hear me out. human. as I rise from the hum. the humor and rumor. of my tongue. emerging from the humid asphalt. the rumor is my home. as resin and as residence where resistance is fragile. and resonance is tactile

"Signs of the Hemisphere" by Urayoan Noel from the book "Buzzing Hemispheres"

15. my hum somehow stunned by language. like Langston smiling in the cams and jams of midtowns. their ethnic enclaves. carpeted and marked up and then abandoned. my hum of off bodies in an on planet. an oracíon. in corpse orated. against corporate ration. and all reason of nation where what starts as hum. so soon fades into buzz

"Signs of the Hemisphere" by Urayoan Noel from the book "Buzzing Hemispheres"

16. It was after my 22nd birthday. when a monster rose to greet me from the confines. of the basement She was a secret friend, liked cookies and beer Once I read her a book about a boy who bribed girls in dresses to climb coconut trees Once I read her a Sears catalogue, and we pretended to own a new mattress.

"Diary Entry #12 : The Monster" by Dianelly Antigua from the book "Good Monster"

17. It was the summer of pain, summer of becoming the rhythm of spasms down my cervical spine, calling it a reunion of ache.

"Diary Entry #13 : Being Sick is a Romantic Idea" by Dianelly Antigua from the book "Good Monster"

18. To say I'm not afraid of dying is to admit I want to be stared at like something to lose. I thought I could. leave with the dignity any breaking woman would want. I haven't been sleeping or walking or kissing the people I love. Sometimes my lips will graze an ear, a freshly shaved neck

"Diary Entry #13 Being Sick is a Romantic Idea" by Dianelly Antigua from the book "Good Monster"

19. Renee and I, hers—in the urn by her desk, and mine—alive in an apartment forty minutes from here, probably watching a telenovela, frying plantains, texting me good night. Renee's mother isn't really in the urn.

"We Never Stop Talking About our Mothers" by Dianelly Antigua from the book "Good Monster"

20. I don't know the names of the women in my family past my great-grandmother. How will I call upon them when it's time? Will I call them Mary or Venus or Yemaya? I've yet to burn the palo santo, the sage. I want to leave behind a legacy of light. I want to leave someone better.

"We Never Stop Talking About our Mothers" by Dianelly Antigua from the book "Good Monster"

21. Though the people on the internet help too. They send money by pressing a small button on their screens. It would be disingenuous to claim all the credit—we can't heal or hurt alone. I sniff the top of each rose like a newborn's scalp—fresh skin and hair only a few days picked.

"I Buy my Monster Roses" by Dianelly Antigua from the book "Good Monster"

22. I'm stuck in the past, I know. I'm stuck in the present, I know that too. I thought the roses could be a cure, and maybe in a small way they were, each petal I plucked so gently from the stems gave in to me.

"I Buy my Monster Roses" by Dianelly Antigua from the book "Good Monster"

23. This isn't an apology but rather a confession

I loved your body before I was born. I counted your future fingers and toes, touched your hands before they ever touched another's, my left in your right, and we slept in the womb that exists before wombs, mouth pressed over mouth, a position I'd learn to crave.

24. And you didn't blame me when asked, called your assassin a name you'd read once in a book about death, and I thanked you in time, and in time, I hope to stop trying, or in time I imagine you'll grow strong, grab me by the throat, close a portal perhaps, and I'll forgive you.

"Someday I'll Stop Killing Dianelly Antigua" by Dianelly Antigua from the book "Good Monster"

25. welcome to the airbreathdeath theatre here we are in the airbreathdeath theatre i drone away at my life in the airbreathdeath theatre i drone away at my breathdeath in the airbreathdeath theatre the episodes blast up like birds the critics like a coup of the imagination the critics there to kill the coup of the imagination

The Performance of Becoming Human

418 Excuse me, Sir, What Time is the Massacre? by Daniel Borzutsky from the book, "The Murmuring Grief of the

Americas"

26. We are in the airbreathdeath theatre waiting for the massacre to begin And he says your uncle your uncle Mauricio what does it mean that he killed himself after he threw all the money in the river

The Performance of Becoming Human #1025 The Police or the Bank of America by Daniel Borzutsky from the book, "The Murmuring Grief of the Americas"

27. The police officer would lift weights in the yard behind our building and I could hear him grunting from exertion He killed a boy in an alley and he also won multiple fitness awards from the Chicago Police Department Sometimes I had to walk by him as he was lifting weights and grunting and I was terrified and wanted to tell the entire building he had killed a boy in an alley But I did not tell the entire building because I realized my neighbors would not care and many of them felt safer because there was a police officer in the building

The Performance of Becoming Human

1025 The Police or the Bank of America by Daniel Borzutsky from the book, "The Murmuring Grief of the Americas"

28. When you see sand in the sky When you see sky in the wrong place When you see nuclear waste in the river When you see your tongue in the wrong mouth What does any of it mean to you I feel so much pressure to speak but I have nothing to say

The Performance of Becoming Human #1025 The Police or the Bank of America by Daniel Borzutsky from the book, "The Murmuring Grief of the Americas"

29. Beloved we saw a death machine And its manual read Press this button to detect bodies carrying drugs across the border We saw another death machine And its manual read This machine is appropriate for detecting small-scale and large-scale international border crossings We blew up the machines

Utopia 527-528 by Daniel Borzutsky from the book, "The Murmuring Grief of the Americas"

30. Beloved were Our immigrant parents who sold stocks and derivatives on their smart phones They owned retirement funds and timeshares and SUVS And they did no labor to obtain them And they placed little value upon them And they were liberal in giving And liberal in taking And liberal in eating and sleeping and publishing and ****ing And a voice said

Utopia 527-528 by Daniel Borzutsky from the book, "The Murmuring Grief of the Americas"

31. And we gave them water to drink And the water was good And the water was pure (And the water was owned by Coca-Cola and Nestle and an unnamed conglomerate of stakeholders in China Qatar and Germany)

Utopia 527-528 by Daniel Borzutsky from the book, "The Murmuring Grief of the Americas"

32. The dude at the skate shop (who in the dream is me) tells me(who in the dream is also me) a long story about a dream he had where his mom (not me) kept mistaking the word "invest" for the word "invent" and the word "debt" for the word "death"

Poem Written Under a Pseudonym by Daniel Borzutsky from the book, "The Murmuring Grief of the Americas"

33. Nationalism democracy dictatorship. the play within the 104-year-old play approaches these themes by forcing the audience members who are left-handed to stand in the corner and face the wall while the righthanded people study them from every possible angle of the universe whispering you and your debt are the same you and your debt are the same

Poem Written Under a Pseudonym by Daniel Borzutsky from the book, "The Murmuring Grief of the Americas"

34. I publish my bad poems (the ones about debt and death) under a pseudonym (daniel) but since I think my bad poems are actually my good poems (the ones about the transience of ideology vis-à-vis the permanence of nature) you might say I publish my best poems (the silent ones) under a pseudonym (daniel)

Poem Written Under a Pseudonym by Daniel Borzutsky from the book, "The Murmuring Grief of the Americas"

35. Should I quote the good book you claim to know; or perhaps our late bearded bard—might these be ways of reaching you? Primitive modern, simple complex— one part wily astute animal, three parts owner of a ranch : conglomeration is what you are, poised for another incursion.

TO GEORGE W. BUSH by Francisco Aragon from the book "After Rubén

36. And though, O man of bluest eye you believe your truth, it is not—you are not the world

TO GEORGE W. BUSH by Francisco Aragon from the book After Ruben

37. Dear Sergio : Your depiction—in Margarita, How Beautiful The Sea— of my homecoming to León in 1907 once again filled my arms with bouquets that dampened my silk suit, baskets of flowers and fruit, which I accepted with a nod though leaving them in the hands of my entourage, a cambric handkerchief wiping the sweat dripping down my face and neck

JANUARY 21, 2013 by Francisco Aragon from the book After Ruben

38. I was in New York shortly after New Year's in 1915 heading home, when I wrote to him one more time. But you were right and I'm mildly embarrassed to admit it: I told a little lie on those sheaths of Hotel Astor stationery in Times Square: the poem I enclosed wasn't composed in Barcelona expressly for him: it was a piece of juvenalia, I know, but one I had a soft spot for, and which I re-titled and dedicated—to him

JANUARY 21, 2013 by Francisco Aragon from the book After Ruben

39. I'm waiting for the day when you, the world, stop fighting it. I am dead, and the dead are very patient. Love, Rubén

JANUARY 21, 2013 by Francisco Aragon from the book After Ruben

40. Her hair: cropped short as a punk's, same gray as these connected cars; her pullover's blue snug, the few holes along her sleeves flesh-colored sores. She's cursing the crooks at City Hall—then go back to where you are from he says, off in a huff at Powell.

BART by Francisco Aragon from the book After Ruben

41. . . . you in my Kodak memory he says, looking up at her from his seat— his speech from the beginning deliberate and slow, touching

BART by Francisco Aragon from the book After Ruben

42. The day begins like any other day. Your daughters soaks a second diaper chortles as she shoves her soft-cooked egg to the floor. Knees pressed to the cracked linoleum

Operation Wetback by Diana Garcia

43. Years later, you tell your son and daughter of that anguished day, how green card migrants vanished from the camps. You tell your children how news gripped the camps of trains headed south loaded with webacks

Operation Wetback by Diana Garcia

44. Hoy enterraron al Louie. And San Pedro o san pinche Are in for it. And those Times of the forties And the early fifties Lost un vato de atolle.

El Louie by Jose Montoya

45. His death was an insult Porque no murio en accionNo lo mataron los vatos, Ni los ----- en Korea He died alone in a Rented room--perhaps like in a Bogart movie

El Louie by Jose Montoya

46. Y en Korea fue soldado de Levita con huevos and all the Paradoxes del soldado razo-- Heroism and the stockade! And on leave, jump boots Shainadas and ribbons, cocky From the war, strutting to Early mass on Sunday morning

El Louie by Jose Montoya

47. They worked They were always on time They were never late They never spoke back when they were insulted They worked They never tooks days off that were not on the calendar They never went on strike without permission

Puerto Rican Obituary by Pedro Pietri

48. Juan Miguel Milagros Olga Manuel All died yesterday today and will die again tomorrow

Puerto Rican Obituary by Pedro Pietri

49. This house is haunted you know. Someone died in here. Where is the basement of the body I dont know. Where is the attic I dont know. I carry her around with me. Stillborn in my boy-womb

My Body the Haunted House by Oliver Baez Bendorf

50. I wanted stockings, makeup, store bought clothes; I wanted to look like an American girl; to speak my English so you couldn't tell I'd come from somehwere else. I locked myself in the bathroom, trying to match my face with words in my new language: grimace, leer disgust, disdain--feelings I had yet to feel in English

All-American Girl by Julia Alvarez

51. But my face wouldn't obey--like a tide it was pulled back by my lunatic heart to its old habits of showing feelings Long after I'd lost my heavy accent, my face showed I had come from somewhere else.

All-American Girl by Julia Alvarez

52. You bring out the Dolores del Rio in me. The Mexican spitfire in me. The raw navajas, glint and passion in me. The raise Cain and dance with the rooster-footed devil in me. The spangled sequin in me. The eagle and serpent in me. The mariachi trumpets of the blood in me. The Aztec love of war in me. The fierce obsidian of the tongue in me.

You Bring out the Mexican in me by Sandra Cisneros

53. Quiero ser tuya. Only yours. Only you. Quiero amarte. Atarte. Amarrate. Love the way a Mexican woman loves. Let me show you. Love the only way I know how

You Bring out the Mexican In Me by Sandra Cisneros

54. Drag a Mexican down main street and hang a Mexican. Take a Mexican from a steamboat and hang a Mexican from the yard-arm of the dock. Hang a Mexican, then burn the corpse of a Mexican Burn a Mexican alive. Hang a Mexican indiscriminately

How to Lynch a Mexican by Anthony Cody

55. Sitting at her table, she serves the sopa de arroz to me instinctively, and I watch her, the absolute mama, and eat words I might have had to say more out of embarassment. To speak, now-foreign words I used to speak, too, dribble down hre mouth as she serves me albondigas.

Nani by Alberto Rios

56. Near her mouth, I see a wrinkle speak of a man whose body serves the ants like she serves me, then more words from more wrinkles about children, words about this and that, flowing more easily from these other mouths.

Nani by Alberto Rio