Being a student of the history of religion, I have been often fascinated by the makeshift altars to the dead along roadsides: In the city next to a mini-mart, marking the spot where a young man met a drive-by bullet; or in the countryside, surrounded by rows and rows of grapevines, memorials are erected to remember dead ones who missed the stop sign and drove headlong in eternity. The most fascinating aspect of these memorials are the very heartfelt letters left by family and friends of the departed. A short couple of sentences from a wife to her husband, "I love you dearly, we will be together again in heaven," scrawled on a tattered piece of paper, can be as moving as any great poem.
BLOGS
I didnt know I was so Latino
Until walking the stone cold courts of Stanford
Brahman Lilly white faces that glare
Behind political pretensions
Aquamarine eyes burning holes into my skin
Like a child pressing harder and harder
On a light brown crayon building wax
Until beige becomes walnut
Over and over outside the lines
See what I made Daddy, a Mexican
Walnut becomes a dark burnt mahogany
Im Latino
Look at me
Theres a sign outside my door
Dont feed the greasy Chicano..
but if you do, 3 lengua tacos
1 chimichanga and a Corona vato
I didnt know I was so Latino
Until I cut my finger on a page
Of William Prescotts Conquest of Mexico
Roasted pepper blood splattered cloistered walls
Tagging Somos Latinos like in the barrio
Mamas salsa gushing as I strolled
Cool like a Stacey Adams wearing pachuco
Down corridors muffled snickers crept past
An alumn who took out a razor blade and sliced
Her snowy white pretentious ass
Bleeding blue rivers that mocked and swallowed
My earthy crimson blood reeking of cilantro
I didnt know I was so Latino
Until I realized strolling Romanesque paths
As a mornings chill wind blew across campus
Past Ivy league senators sons cheeks flushed
The only men that looked like me
Pablo Hernando Garcia with mustache trimming the tree
Buenos Dias we exchange
Both smelling like chorizo and eggs
Until walking the stone cold courts of Stanford
Brahman Lilly white faces that glare
Behind political pretensions
Aquamarine eyes burning holes into my skin
Like a child pressing harder and harder
On a light brown crayon building wax
Until beige becomes walnut
Over and over outside the lines
See what I made Daddy, a Mexican
Walnut becomes a dark burnt mahogany
Im Latino
Look at me
Theres a sign outside my door
Dont feed the greasy Chicano..
but if you do, 3 lengua tacos
1 chimichanga and a Corona vato
I didnt know I was so Latino
Until I cut my finger on a page
Of William Prescotts Conquest of Mexico
Roasted pepper blood splattered cloistered walls
Tagging Somos Latinos like in the barrio
Mamas salsa gushing as I strolled
Cool like a Stacey Adams wearing pachuco
Down corridors muffled snickers crept past
An alumn who took out a razor blade and sliced
Her snowy white pretentious ass
Bleeding blue rivers that mocked and swallowed
My earthy crimson blood reeking of cilantro
I didnt know I was so Latino
Until I realized strolling Romanesque paths
As a mornings chill wind blew across campus
Past Ivy league senators sons cheeks flushed
The only men that looked like me
Pablo Hernando Garcia with mustache trimming the tree
Buenos Dias we exchange
Both smelling like chorizo and eggs
AUGUST 2011
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Lainey