Spring 2012

somos spring2012

latino literary magazine

Representing Latinos and Latino culture through prose, poetry, nonfiction, and visual art

letter from the editors

established in 1990, SOMOS Latino Literary Magazine provides students with a space to share their culture and experiences through prose, poetry, and visual art. The writing and artwork we publish showcases the diversity of Latino culture as well as the strength and talent of the Latino community.

Ana Irma Patete's "Seis Haikus" captures the complexities of love, beauty, and passion within simple stanzas A heavenly vision in the rays of the morning sun is described by the narrator in Esther Escotto's "Zarcillos." And Jose R. ApontePierass poem "El Mar ofWords"explores the clashing of cultures in the Caribbean wrth a rhythmic and hypnotic beat.

Josh Rowe presents an intriguing short story, "A SuperfTcie", where the psychological revelations of a diner waitress end up being more than mere desires but leads to an investigation.While Estes Bolsos"by Elaine Hsiang is a tender and joyful poem that deals with our day-to-day wants and how small details CT k? -m somethin§ emotional and valuable. Untitled" by Elizabeth Gonzalez immerses the reader into the agony of love, and exposes the strenuous force of true passion. Caroline Steinfeld's "Estoria witk136*6 ^nngS a sP'ralinS awakening with graceful nuances in a poem that is both charming and profound.

The themes of this semesters art selections varied from the biological, to the representation of euphoria, to the embodiment of abstract expressionism The artwork evoked a quality of Latino warrrfy

V,brant s

^'h" P itte °r thrOUgh the|r subtle—and perhaps subconscious— alUsion to magicalrealism, a common style embraced ,n Latin American literature We are honored to present our Spring 2012 issue of SOMOS.

contents

wangz, I -5 LeTran Q* untitled,2 s_i Pamela Lee

3 untitled, 3 Q Claudine Fernandez O, HIN1,5 TP Sophia Diaz ^ la morada de los _ muertos,6 5_i Stephanie Vasquez ^ homenaje,28 Stephanie Vasquez pastel still life,9 Paola Bonilla piernas y pies, 13 Emily Gonzalez juntos nos dormimos, 18 Michelle Vander Ploeg guac, 19 Paola Bonilla

untitled, 22 Pamela Lee acolhendo noite, 24 Nicholas Donias tomatoes, 25 Monica Sanchez silence, 26 Tomas Quihonez-Riegos

>-> only human, 4 Lizette Chaparro ^ estoria de peixe, 7 D, Caroline Steinfeld TP estes bolsos, 10 ^ Elaine Hsiang ^ lost & found, I I cr Juan Carlos Carranza O £-i seis haikus de una pobre ^ enamorada, 14 Ana Irma Patete a superficie, 15 Josh Rowe hipotermia, 17 Marielle Alvino zarcillos, 17 Esther Escotto

word picking,20 Ayoosh Pareek two men in santa clara, 21 Lizette Chaparro untitled, 23 Elizabeth Gonzalez ankles and oranges, 27 Samuel Cordero el mar of words, 29 Jose RAponte - Pieras

only human

Chino wasthe handyman at our residence. He fixed our showers, replaced light bulbs, and picked up our rationed food whenever it was available. Chino also made it his duty to help all the students in the residence understand Cuba. A lot of "rt, it seemed, had to do with sex. He warned us about the marriage proposals from Cubans and told us that the catcalls were mostly compliments, but he also let us know where to go if we wanted to dance or see a good show.

One day, hurricane season began. From our fourteenth floor penthouse, we could seethe ocean thrusting itself over the Malecon as the windows rattled. We were all amazed and looked at the scene from the window next to the balcony. Chino sat on his rocking chair, barely even amused by our excitement

Someone had the idea of stepping out onto the balcony. I vacillated because that dayI had run out of underwear.The gusts of wind made it foolish to hang laundry on the balcony. And worst of all, I had also run out of pants. Iwas wearing an ankle-length, red skirt I figured the skirt's length would have been my saving grace, so I decided to step onto the balcony.I opened the

glass door and held on tightly to my skirt.

One tiny part of my skirt fluttered in the wind and I held it down.The next second, my entire skirt came up and encased the upper half of my body until I looked like a tulip. I managed, in the wind, to bring it back down and left the balcony.

Everyone tried to hold back their reaction except Chino. Chino, who was frantically rocking in his chain put his hand over his chest. "I'm only human," he told me with laugher "You should feel my heartbeat, it's racing."

I knew then not to get mad at Chino; to trust intentions; to smile and proceed to my room.

Months later, the windows would still be rattling, but with a cold December wind. Someone's parents would be visiting and the residence staff would put together a big dinner. The parents would bring gifts for everyone on the staff and Chinos gift would be a Pink Floyd t-shirt. His excitement would be greater than anyone's I had ever seen in Cuba He would be as happy as American children are on Christmas morning. I would watch him from across the room and feel tremendous emptiness.

la morada de los muertos Stephanie V'asquez

estoria de peixe

Uma estoria de curvas, e ciclos Uma estoria de ondas de mare alta Uma estoria de mare baixa —Ou de pescador, quern sabe?—

Uma estoria de descidas e escadas sem fim espiralando na curva de uma concha Escadas as quais descia e nas quais tropecei uma noite qualquer (uma noite azul):

brincava de pescar

deparei no peixe, e dai pra frente o problema. engasguei nos espinhos, cortei o dedo nas escamas, e ao abrir a ca ueparei-me com o amor incrustado no intestino. era pedrinha preta ou perola, irregular mas lustrosa irradiava um som de luar confundia os sentidos e convocava as estrelas o cheiro de maresia e a vermelha ferrugem metalizava-se no instante amargura na minha boca, mercurio: instantanea fisgada no estomago.

As maos; sangravam,e nao paravam e a garganta atravessada com um espinho estragava a voz e arranhava o som entao parei, calei.

Perguntei em silencio para esse peixe.

E na brancura brilhante do olho morto A cinica situa^ao espetava-me o sentir: ja era uma carcaca: nunca responderia!

Soltei a faca, suspirei e olhei

em volta: muitas cores, e as sombras das grrtantes gaivotas danpando na areia suja,

afJIc 5 , a§ulhando° horizonte algas verdes alinhadas na praia a m°arJn^aS'^nUiaS muitas conchinhas a maioria quebrada,

Fofasstm ? n°rP6 df qUem caminha roi assim que ficou, fisgado, esse cinico olhar na minha mente.

Ja, no meu corapao, uma escama a mais acumulava-se n.,JSS'm ^Urgia a Per§unta verde-azuladasabe um dia serei peixe tambem?'

estes bolsos

Elaine Hsiang '12

recentemente tenho estado afim dos bolsos grandes eu posso segurar tanto: garrafas.telefones, carteiras,chaves, nossas maos, podemos segurar maos nesses bolsos

recentemente tenho estado afim dos bolsos grandes eu posso esconder tanto: doces, moedas,diarios, protetor labial, nosso amor, podemos esconder amor nesses bolsos

ultimamente tern estado um pouco frio,tenho vestido casacos com grandes bolsos vamos segurar e esconder as nossas amor-maos neles, segure, onde so podemos sentir o calor

lost & found

the things i've lost

A pair of blue and white striped, Old Navy flip-flops, forgotten at Mission Beach after a bonfire in 2007. My faith in humanity: once when my older sister informed me that the people in Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers were not actually real, simply actors: and again, when she maliciously told me that the people inside the Rangers' suits were stunt doubles. My aversion to miso soup,after giving ft anothertry at Sushi Deli 2, and finding out that it's actually pretty great.

A black floppy disk that contained 'The Legend of the Knight's Sword,"the 60+ page story written in the 4th grade,after being inspired by The Hobbit The Olympians (starring Eavesdrop, Phantom, Mantis,and Meteor!) written and drawn in the 8th grade at commencement of what would be a life-long love of comic books. My copy of The Kite Runner, after forgetting who I lent it to and never getting ft back

My D&G eyeglasses and a sandal, while inner-tubing down a deceptively rapid river on a camping trip wrthAlan, Isaac,and Jesse in the summer of 2009; the same night Alan drunkenly kissed me in our tent. My virginity, in a forgettable event with a loser that I would later end up regretting. The valentine I that I received from Sierra in the n,N.§??e' My fearof being incapablei of love, in the winter of 2010 nJr.?y P°Unds' while worl<ir.g over the summer in Miami and sur L g on a diet of oatmeal, green

sleen n 1 tlme 1 exPei"ienced endure it S'S' 1 » usually £?o?n?„now wrthout a My erSfa7 L0asters'in** g ade, after riding The Big Dipper in

Belmont Park three times ina row.

My bright-eyed and bushy-tailed naivete when I watched the World Trade Center smolder and crumble as I got ready for school. The chance to see Coldplay in concert because Mom was having surgery the next day. My belief that Dad had all the answers, after hearing him worry about getting laid off the same week I left a note for the Tooth Fairy, asking her to give my tooth money to my parents.

My hope of ever getting a little brother, after the third Christmas in a row that Santa failed to bring me one. My hopes of ever growing a manly amount of stubble or five o'clock shadow. A red Brown University water bottle, forgotten on the 92 trolley while rushing to make ft to a tutoring shift at Carl Lauro Elementary School. Pudge, an American Eskimo puppy from a litter of nine, who was no longer in the backyard one summer morning.

The race for Homecoming King to Benny Garcia but I knew that would happen. The mix of anxiety and repulsion I'd get from directly touching my eye, after about three weeks of wearing contact lenses. The ability to wake up before 7 am without the use of an alarm dock The belief that women don't have facial hair; afterseeing coach Sovay's bleached mustache up close.

My favorite green ink rollerball pen, after stupidly letting a girl in my seminar borrow it freshman year The ability to hear a Disney song without enthusiastically singing along to it The anxiety that comes with trying to figure out what comes next while simultaneously adopting the motivation to find what I love.

the things i've kept

The movie ticket stub from the night I came out to my dad: Conan the Barbarian; an anxious moment that woundup being extremelyand surprisingly serene. A small scar on the side of my right foot from a cut that needed to be reopened and squeezed for a blood sample immediately after I was bom. The 3rd season of Smallville I borrowed from Phil in 2006 and forgotto give back before he movedto Dallas.

A generalized fear of homeless people, manifested at the age of twelve, after being harassed and threatened by a homeless woman while pickingup trash forcommunity service. A strong fear of heights. A crippling squeamishness around needles, especially when thinking about gettingmy blood drawn.

The habit of tapping any metal door handle with my nails before grasping it with my hand, after getting zapped while opening a door inside Circus,Grcus, LasVegas. A slicing sarcasm that was developed in response to fifth-grade bullies. My first memory ofsnow, drivingup to the mountains tothe small town of Julian with my family in the winter of 2000.

An obsession with anything XMen related, established after reading X-Men:The UltimateGuide in the seventh grade. Two scars on the back ofmy head:one from fallingofF of aporch;the other fromsmashing my head against the comer of our entertainment center while performing a somersault. My first pair of glasses, from the second grade. The nickname "Carlitos" despite now being taller than all the men on my mom's side of the family.

Countless old shirts and jeans that no longer fit quite right but

can't bring myself to throw out # I Babysitter mug,given to me by my cousins Ari and Luca. Ribbons from my brief and exciting career as a competitive ballroom dancer. A cassette tape of classic Disney songs, made by my grandpa when I was six.

A baby blue rosary that would soothe my nightly fears of demons and monsters. The irrational feeling that the entire world is staring at me when I have a zit on my face. A box full ofnovels from my classes at Brown and a few hundred comic books from my childhood collecting dust in the basement of my parent's house, both of which I plan to display proudly on my bookshelf once I have a place of myown.

The urge to burst out in a coordinated dance number whenever I walk downthe street listening to music. Wisdom from my younger sister, delivered via text after expressing my desire to go back home at the start of my junior year: "Don't be silly! You got this :)" Songs About Jane, Maroon 5; the first CD I bought myself with myownmoney. An irrational fear of the security sensors mistakenly going off whenever I exit a store.

A lifelong friendship and devotion to Harry Potter. The habit of pretending I am using telekinesis to open automatic doors. A caricature ofAlma,Alexis and I,drawn in Sea World the summer before our senior year Advice from Dad that has gotten me throughtough times, everything happens for a reason. The desire to know what it feels like to fly.

piernas y pies

seis haikus de una pobre enamorada

Aaa Irma Patete '13

Ayer pense en la histeria de la mujer. Lloro por ella.

No puedo parar de verlo sonreir en mi boca triste.

La belleza se disuelve con tan solo un golpe feo.

Naturaleza, dijo la nina rubia, me hipnotiza.

Y hay momentos que atrapan y consumen los besos de ayer.

Hay algo de vos en mi mirada fija y audaz. / ^Lo ves?

a superflcie

Eu sabia que havia alguma coisa quando voce nao vottou. Eu SABIA. Voce nao aparecia todos os^ dias, mas era consistente. As vezes voce vinha as 8h antes de dar aula, ou as vezes ao meio-dia durante o intervalo. Mas voce sempre aparecia, pelo menos uma vez por semana e ate tres vezes. Voce sempre sentava em urn lugar diferente.

Nossas conversas nunca foram nada de se reparar Muitas vezes so trocavamos um "Oi" e voce pedia as vezes um suco de laranja as vezes um bagel, ouum cafe—sem aqucar, claro. Nosdias que voce estava mais disposto a falar voce soltava um "Tudo bem?", mas so, e voltava a se ocupar. —Oi. —Bom dia —Tudo bem? —Tudo.

Um donut, sem recheio e um cafe por favor. —So um minuto. E foi assim por cinco anos seguidos.

Duvido que voce percebesse qualquer parte de mim no diner. Seu olhar nunca demorou nas minhascoxas,nunca acariciou minhas ancas, nunca travou quando eu buscava dobradinha, alguma coisa ou outra de baixo do balcao. Para ser justa, eu tambem nunca te dei razaopara desconfiar daminha tachada composta.

Aquela altura eu era tfmida e reservada. Sempre busquei seu pedido rapidamente, sendo atenciosa mas nao demais. Nunca demorei no meu serviqo, e depois de te servir eu seguia para uma outra parte

do balcao para atender aos outros fregueses. Eu era a garqonete de um diner qualquer.A quete serve.A que nunca deixa que sua caneca se encontre vaziaA que voce nuncalembra porque ela ja foi esquecida

Nada traiu meu sigilo—nenhum toque sem querermovimento fora do lugar; ou segurv do olhar para tras. Sofri, mas contive a paixao revoltada que borbulhava pouco, por baixo desse sorriso modesto meu. Cinco anos me controlei, dissipando o calor que surgia por baixo do meu avental quando voce entrava por aquela porta Nao sei quantas vezes eu supliquei ao meu corpo, que ele nao me desvendasse, que voce nao percebesse a humidade que encharcava minha calpa Foi impossi'vel suprimir o que transbordava quando eu assistia voce saborear delicadamente cada migalha Assim eu imaginava que voce me saboreava...

Eu bem podia ter puxado assunto com voce. Eu devia Alguma coisa do tempo, uma pergunta sobre onde voce trabalha, ou algo do fim de semana A rotina poderia ter nos aproximado, Deus sabe que havia tempo suficiente. Eu perguntariacomo estavamas aulas, voce responderia que ameninada deste ano e mais cabepuda do que a do ano anterior mas que eles aprendem bem.Voce faria graqa perguntando se eu tinha mudado alguma coisa na receita do cafe, e eu responderia que so se a cafeteira tivesse quebrado, porque voce bem sabe que nada nesse diner muda nunca

-0s E gradualmente a gente se W- falaria mais, Um dia voce me "A convidaria para sair, eu recute- sana, dizendo que eu trabalho tre muito.Voce sabe como e com >ra tudo que tern que serfeito em casa.. Mas voce insistiria e me surpreenderia, me esperando >vi- do lado de fora do diner no fiin- nal do dia E tudo aconteceria ias muito rapido, e bem... ue Eu podia ter dado esse prixo meiro passo... E quantas vezes 5U, eu queria! Mas eu nao conseis- gui lan^ar o papo. Eu temia que or o canto de minha boca talvez Jo tremesse, que eu falasse acoisa ta. errada que voce desconfiasse u- da limpeza anormal dos pratos :le que eu te trazia Limpar era a :e unica maneira que eu conseJe guia desviar o tesao que me ;a inundava o tesao da sua preje senqa Foi na agua calorenta, s- ensaboada lubrificada que eu a- despejava a vibraqao que me :u vascolejava > Na superfine lisa estava tudo normal. Mas ela so es0 condia otumulto de maos suba mersas, de dedos que deslizaia vam e exploravam a forma de e cada copo rigido, de cada faca i- mordaz. Cada canto que eu s sentia era um dos seus cantos, e Como eu queria conhece-los.

O pouco que eu sabia de voce eu roubei dos gr'rtos alegres do seu amigo professor. 3 Ele as vezes sentava junto."Pois. > se nao e o famoso John Land: ers! Ilustre professor de ingles 1 da primeira serie e guardiao de i haute cultura na nossa prisao, desculpa, colegio."Voce so sori na e bebia goles do seu cafe. : Eu via pelo canto do meu olho.

E uma semana voce nao apareceu.

Voce achou que eu nao la perceber? Que eu ia inventar uma desculpa? "£), talvez ele nao gosta dacomida daqui,"ou, "Talvez ele achou um emprego num outro lugan" Nao. Ninguem frequenta um diner por cinco anos e do nada dissolve no ar. Ninguem sai sem dar sinal de vida, sem reaparecer nem sequer uma vez! Depois da segunda semana ja comecei a ficar preocupada. Os onibus da escola iam e vinham todos os dias, entao voce nao estava de ferias. Nenhuma entrada ou sai'da pela porta do lanchonete escapou sem ser investigada, sutilmente claro. Depois de um mes liguei para a escola e pedi para falar com voce. Desliguei envergonhada. Foi a escola errada. A quarta vez eu acertei: John Dewey Central High. Fingi que eu era uma conhecida sua, uma professora de uma outra escola.

A recepcionista foi simpatica mas o torn dela era triste. Ela me relatou que quatro semanas atras voce tinha desaparecido. Ela acrescentou que voce era um dos melhores professores do colegio, mas que um dia voce nao chegou ao trabalho. Foi estranho, ela explicava, porque voce nunca faltou antes. Ainda mais, desde entao ninguem descobriu nada novo. Desliguei apavorada.

Comecei a ler os jornais compulsivamente. Todos os dias eu vasculhava os obituarios, buscando teu nome entre os de avos queridos, tias, e maridos recem-partidos. Quando mais um mes passou e nao descobri nenhum rastro

seu fui para a biblioteca. Puxei os jornais da cidade toda e me assegurei de que nada tinha me escapado nos ultimos dois meses. Durante horase dias eu procurei ate que meus dedos enegreceram de tinta. Tres vezes eu li os obituarios da cidade inteira.

James Wilkenstein - Avo e marido adorado... Nao. Susan Rawl... Nao.

Johnathan Landsworth Marido e filho amado. Morreu no dia 4 de abril aos 65 anos... Caralho! Nao!

As tragedias nessas paginas me assaltavam e encurralavam. Houve vezes em que senti que eu ia enlouquecer lendo elas. Nao pude parar de projetar voce em cada catastrofe que li. Passaram mais dois meses. Comecei a perder o sono pensando em voce sentado ao balcao. A cena que assisti por cinco anos passava sem parar: voce levando a caneca aos seus labios delicados, voce respirando fundo, e, gole por gole, tomando o liquido preto e quente, depositando-o para fundo. O seu fundo. Agora voce penetrou o meu. E como voce mexia com ele, mesmo desaparecido. Talvez mais do que nunca.

Entre as tragedias diarias nos jornais nenhuma foi igual a que eu vivia cada hora enquanto eu trabalhava nesse diner, e cada vez que eu frtava essa porta maldita por qual voce deixou de entrar. E um dia eu te vi.

...continua na proximo ediqao

hipotermia

Marielle Alvino '15

Mentolatum, eres polvo de adviento en mi garganta Depuras la arena de mi esbozo decadente Y me reduces a una cedula de gemidos Imberbes por inflexion. El rigor De ampollas surfaceas brota Flematico

Desde el zocalo De un hipotalamo en llamas. For]'andote un verbo infinrtamente Cinetico. infinitamente hipotetico A' otro lado de esta Comala

Mientras me hundo en suerios de guerrillas urbanas.

Las nuevas sustancias trazan ideas en el aire ideas que se deshacen en el cielo cera de la conciencia como los fragmentos de un avion que va perdiendo cordura

y luego se va el lenguaje inarticulado de esta fiebre llena vaobs.

Los mensajes viajan del panico al extasis hasta envolverse en sonidos voragines las leyes cuanticas son ecos de movimiento llueven sobre una Metropolis de sudor

Me recuendan del ibuprofeno que me olvide de ingerin

zarcillos

Esther Escotto

Mirando a los zarcillos de la mariana que se enroscan por lo alto Llegue a ver angeles volando en el aire Ellos cargaban una perla de gran valor y significado. 7

Era un Espfritu herido, en camino a la perfeccion

word picking

I.Something about me

I was walking around thinking how we could wanderthe streets of NewYork together there is nothing more romantic than diners at 3am than park benches in the rain,than NewYork City streets, just NewYork City streets. my city is beautiful, do you want to burn itwith me? until it bleeds your lipstick color;or skyline blues? we have beasts within us, wolves,and we should let them loose for just a little while,or at least let them howl atthe moon together, I have always been obsessed with the moon,and you. just you, but think about scrambled eggs and french toast, smell ofcofFee, diners at 3am, NewYork has so many of those when dreaming of jumping ofFskyscrapers for you, Ilet myself fall,I don't care, I've felt the ground before.

II. Something about you

I am pickingthe best words to describe you,they call it word picking, and I am a frequent visitor running intoyou is how heart transplants feel, clear intentions and cloudy eyes, talking toyou is infinite intoxication.

III.Something about us

It's as if we can talk for hours,and that's lifetimes to people as young as us, and even in the rare moments of silence between our talks, I am etch-a-sketching hypothetical conversations imagining when we will combine like sugar cubes melting inthe hot tea. this time,it felt like the firsttime I got out of yourcovers at dawn, and the air was about to tingle with tension silence in the presence of comfort

two men in santa clara

i ne museums in Cuba seldom impressed me. They just met my expectations. Most were a collection of relics meant to immortalize the revolution. They sat on faded green cloths and were framed in some kind of plastic that was too opaque to be plexiglass. There stood the last bowl that Che Guevara touched, the shoes of a woman who escaped from torture, and the uniforms of soldiers with 50-year-old bloodstains. This was important to many Cubans. Or, to the government, at least.These relics were a way to reinforce the fact that the revolution was bold; that many suffered to achieve equality. So, wherever we went, if there was a museum, we went to it.

The one in Santa Clara commemorated a battle by lining up three rusty train cars and potting rifles, clothing, and pictures inside of them.We were supposed to step in and out of them to gain some kind of appreciation or understanding.

I suspect it was my exceptional cynicism that allowed me to finish first. I walked on the grass, away from the train cars, and closer to the sidewalk I took out my camera and contemplated the view: a few closed storefronts and an empty atorsIdrawncT ^ by °n "Hey, psst."

them.0t th'S Shit aga'n1 'gnored "Tomanos una foto."

catcllingTsS'TT^"'1 shook my head I haTf but ginning. bephotograph strangers £* I thought. So I could h What' friends back home? No.This'c^

torn seemed to objectify Objectify.What a liberal intellectual I had become. These men didn't care about my guilt though. They insisted.

"Psst, una foto."

I smiled again. "No gracias,"and began to walk away, back towards the train cars. My steps were slow, almost apologetic. I wished they could understand my reasoning.

And then,"Oye, gorda!"

My step hesitated for a moment. Oneof the guys in our group looked up and I bowed my head in embarrassment. I had been defeated; the phrase lingered, threateningly, in my head.

As everyone else got out ofthe train cars,the men remained on the street, behind our bus, watching us board. I avoided looking at them and stood behind my friend Dan. I grabbed his arm as if that could offend the men. Dan turned his head and noticed the men watching us.

We settled into our seats and I tried to tell Dan what happened, but before I could get a single word out, he said: "They got their asses capped."

I did not understand what he was trying to tell me. Was he trying to console me? Had someone, maybe the tour guide, seen what happened, and in my defense, told off the men?

"Who, thoseguys?" I asked. He looked at the trains on the bright green field. "Yeah. I guess the winners get towrite history."

I raised my eyebrow and shrugged. As I sank into my seat felt irrelevant. I remained silent and looked out the window until we reached the next town, the next museum.

untitled

A escuridao da noite traz uma inquietude no meu peito.Aqui dentro de sinto-a Aquela ansiedade. E voce meu vi'cio?

Cada pessoa tern seus defeitos...

Para mim voce e a paz que falta—minha tranquilidade. Meus olhos fecham e vejo seu rosto.

Sempre

Ouqo sua voz, suas palavras, seu riso.

Sinto...sinto sua presenqa alem de sua ausencia Aqui comigo.

Minha paixao por voce nao se acalma.. Um grito que nao consigo calar. Estou perdendo esta batalha contra sua lembranga.

silence Tomas Quinonez-Riegos '15 graphite on paper

ankles and oranges

I was bom on June 25th, 1994 to two Mexican parents. Jose was from Oaxaca, and Marta's family was from Acapulco, where they ran a cheap tourist hotel — El Parafso Encontrado — onthe edgeof town. One summerJose made his way up fromTehuantepec in search of work, and Marta's father was in need of a pool boy. But Mama tells me that Jose was not the kind of pool boy that she now watches on daytime re-runs of Desperate Housewives as she tries to fall asleep. He worked long hours while my mother watched him from the reception desk He was 24; she was 19.

I should have been bom on or after June 26th, 1994.That was the day Jose and Marta had planned to arrive in Pecos after crossing the border from Ciudad Juarez into El Paso.

The word for anchor in Spanish is "ancla." When I was 12 and in school in Pecos living with my Tfo Juan, we did a unit on Greek mythology. I learned about Achilles and the origin of the phrase 'Achilles heel." It was then that I heard "ankle" and thought it was "ancla" in English.

was supposed to be an anchor baby, but I ended up becoming an Achilles heel.

When Jose and Marta met the first replacement coyote on July 3rd, 1994 he took one look at me and shook his head. "Es demasiado riesgoso. Its too risky. Jose and Marta couldn't tell if he meant that it was too dangerous for me or for him.

They met the second replace­

ment coyote on July 4th, 1994 at a bar near the Rib Bravo.The fireworks from the celebration in El Paso reflected on the brackish water He looked at me and shook his head."Lo siento." I'm sorry.

When Jose got Marta pregnant — or maybe it was when Marta's belly began to swell — Marta's fatherfired Jose and kicked Marta out of the house, which was really just two hotel rooms joined together at the far end of the El Parafso Encontrado.Jose had a cheap apartment on the other side oftown so Marta moved in with him.The apartment was small, and neither one had a job.Jose picked up occasional work at another hotel — one of the big chain ones — but it was only as a substitute groundskeeper. Marta tried to get a job as a dishwasher at The Hard Rock Cafe but was forced to quit when the management could no longer ignore her pregnancy.

By the middle of June they had made up their minds to head north.

On a Thursday afternoon they gathered their most essential belongings and headed to the bus station.After buyingtwo ticketsto Ciudad Juarez, they went into a nearby shop to buy some food for the 23hour bus ride: a 10-pack of tortillas and some oranges. My mom slept on my dad's shoulder for the first 10 hours while he watched their things; they switched after a short stop in Delicias.

At the busstop in Juarezmy dad made a phone call to the coyote his friends in Acapulco had suggested. They made plans to meet up on

Sunday afternoon.

We left the hospital on July 2nd. (My premature birth meant there were some slight complications.) My mom had gone into labor just as the coyote was about to pick them up from a gas station on the outskirts oftown.Although he wouldn't give my parents back their money — he said it was a non-refundable deposit — he did drive them to the Hospital Santa Ana I was bom at 10 p.m., and my dad went out at I am.to buy another package of tortillas and some more oranges. (The hospital cafeteria was closed, and my parents literally needed food for thought as they tried to decide what came next).

At first the third replacement coyote was more open to the idea of taking a baby across the border Plans were made to crosson Friday, July 7th right before dawn. But on the night of the 6th he called my parents at the bus station — where they were sleeping on benches and answering the pay phone as if it were their own — and said that his boss, who coordinated the crossings, was not comfortable with the idea

My Tfo Juan and his wife had been having trouble conceiving a child in 1994. My dad called him on July 9th to see if he knew of anybody willing to take a two-week old baby and two adults across the border. To Jose's surprise, my tfo said he and Magdalena his wife, could. Confused, my dad asked him what he meant, and Juan explained that he and his wife could pretend to have had me.They had a friend

who worked in the right sort of office and could get a fake birth certificate for me. Then they'd come pick me up in Juarez and take me back across the border as if I were their own.

Jose had hung up without saying a word, butwhen Juan called the bus station telephone two hours later he did pick up. After about 20 minutes of hushed conversation — Juan has always been paranoid that the governmentis or might become involved — he hung up and went over to his wife. They embraced in the crowded bus station.

On July I Ith Tfo Juan and Tfa Magdalena came down to get me. On July 12th my parents moved into an apartment in Juarez so that they would be closer to me but still be on the right side of the border Marta found a job at a maquiladora, and Jose began work at a mechanic's shop.

I see my parents every other weekend, and it's easier for me to spend a summer in Mexico than it ever is for them tospend time here.

'Tfo Juan" is what I call the person I'm supposed to call "Dad" when I'm in the US. Sometimes I still refer to my father as "Dad," but now I've begun to just call him Jose, just like everyone else who seesthe name embroidered in red on the blue coverall he wears every day. Tfa Magdalena took me to school every day just as Marta, my mom, would finish up her shiftWhenever I visit my parents they pick me up at the same bus station where they first decided that it might be better like this.

el mar of words

Tro tra tra-tra-tra, tra tra tra-tra-tra

En el Caribe el mar es belleza, el mar es una cerca que con nuestra lengua nos encierra.

La isla del encanto, we are fricase de polio echale un poquito de alguna cosita y se pone mas sabroso. Como cuando USA llego y el 'espikin' english se quedo, al igual que el espariol no desaparecio cuando solo la corona cedio.

En este pais Disglossia seria una enfermedad comun everything infested, chronically manifested, porque aquf se nos hace dificil hablar espariol, ingles o aleman.

Es la unica forma en que nos podemos comunicar; effortlessly,efficiently, clearly, porque un solo lexico no es suficiente para expresar todo lo que se siente.

Tra-tra-tra

El bajo se vuelve a escuchar en los carros al pasar y es que el ritmo de la constante metamorfosis cultural lo dicta el tra-tra-tra.

J porque sera que algo tan monotono pueda gustar en un lugar donde la mezcla siempre reinara debe ser porque ya la gente aburrida esta

de lo complicado de lo que tiene mas de un significado.

Somos puertorriquerios no nos queda mas remedio. No podriamos ser nada mas por mas que lo pudiera alguien desean porque en la historia grabados estan the tiesthat bind to the rest of mankind.

Somos lo que somos porque hacemos lo que hacemos. Ven pa' las fiestas de la calle y te voy a enseriar el revolu que se va a formar porque si hay algo que en la colonia sabemos hacer te aseguro que sabemos fiestar jVoy subiendooooo, voy bajandoo, tu vives como yo vivo yo vivo vacilando!

Aunque se nos haga dificil hablar; cuando estamos aca o alia buscamos maneras de relajar

Al final, cuando nos vayan a preguntar: "What do people do to keep on living?", les tendremos que contestar con el tra-tra-tra..A Que hacemos lo necesario para seguir enriqueciendo el fricase de polio que who knows en que boca va a parar; but whatever