But first! It must be a volcano! Welcome to the energetic and inventive poetry of Luis Humberto Valadez, April’s featured poet.
Note: View on larger screen to preserve artistic formatting.
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I am Energy as Soon as I Start Doing!
(Inspired by Leticia, Sophomore English Major of Neijiang Normal University, PRC)
Are we the force that refuses to stop doing that which must be done for
the conversation of energy?
I think so!
For the reason we start doing, the
expenditure of our ignition must be converted to units
we both understand.
Let’s start drawing a picture of a mountain! But first!
It must be a volcano!
The sun will make our skins darker, but, please do not worry,
please leave your umbrella.
We are just doing what our nature is asking of us.
For the reason we start doing, the expenditure of
our ignition must be converted to units we both
understand.
I feel we are the force that refuses to stop. I want the conversation of energy.
To know
Are we together mountains? Are we of the same volcano?
I thank you for teaching me how not to waste the weeds in our
field of strength which will be fertilized
by night soil.
I am a stone pillar leaning towards you walking in heels
tilling the land.
For the reason we start doing, the expenditure of our
ignition must be converted to units we both
understand.
Can you check this on your phone?
~~~
Three Months In
Neijiang (2014)
Side A
No other thing is a square of concrete
adjacent to the way into a complex
containing people who often strike me
No other things are the tables for tennis
in front of or behind strewn about clothes
exalted in my eyes by a chainlink fence
No one else on the coach bus should feel
the space they are taking from a woman
bringing a bag of beef and potatoes
too small for my eyes to form a large meal from
to a landmass of people too many
for the mouth beneath them to describe as small
I believe the mucus under my nose
is a sign I am letting go of something
even if I do not know what it is
Side B
No other sensation is a city
teeming with a life in which you have no part
but to be asked why, where, if you are not
one of ours with bad fortune of fat, round face
eyes and hair that are unremarkable
Nothing is like knowing of eros and loss
in the lives of the people around you
served back and forth like a shuttlecock in play
on the street during slow business hours
in a game you were never taught in your schools
No good is begun from wanting badly
to pause the breath of your fellow passengers
wielding your undeniable nature
It is like requiring that the teacher
affix a colorful sticker against
each one of your suffocating desires
pardoning your runny speech
for the influence of oily local food
and paper too thin to absorb it all
~~~
she took a picture with me
she let me speak to her in
sentences I practiced for hours
sifted vigorously through her
points of reference
then set them
as the foundation
for a home
in the desert
she read my interpolations
played them as music we
both could find the rhythm of
she took my eyes for
much broader than anyone else had
asked me about my spectacles
looked into my pupils before
trying to look through the frames
she came over to cook
though neither of us knew how
held my hand covered in
fingerless gloves
put her scarf on me
she took the weight between us as
a place for rest
expanded the measure of her reach
stood on the tips of her toes
to take a picture with me
~~~
good lovers repatriate fires that have disbursed each other, he said
for Akilah Oliver
hold my child, i said. i’ll pick him up when i retire from my position as a miscellaneous employee. make him hot dogs and eggs. teach him to slice his Corn King Franks pieces smaller with a fork. i only got him cause someone once let me in on a joke.
my breath is the pots i ate of almond cheese and vegan chili thinking they wouldn’t show above my waist. my scent is the shower i took in a dream so lucid i didn’t take one before your class. i promise i never tried to sell you what i served, even though you smoked heavily.
i need gloves for my extremities. i would take yours if they weren’t yours. my wrists would rather take the weight of my shoulders than distribute what makes them feel significant. i am wrecked in the hips from the times i approached you from the outer edges of my feet. if i wasn’t the same age as your son, i wonder how much sooner you would have stopped bobbing your head to my tune of be mine not anyone else’s. besides, i didn’t know how to recognize when someone wanted to touch me. still don’t. i apologize for my jealousy. you didn’t lust for me and my girth would have kept me from reaching you, anyway. it’s because of you i figured out that my language is filed under gets i ain’t got.
Luis Humberto Valadez is from Chicago Heights, IL, USA, with parents from Mexico. He is the author of “what i’m on” (2009, University of Arizona Press) and “Valid Lush” (2012, Plumberries Press). He is an educator focused on service to disenfranchised populations, formerly working in Chicago and currently working in China. His work as a poet is the work of trying to be a source for good in this life and trying to understand the nature of being. As such, whatever environment he is in will influence his work deeply.
~~~
Spittoon Monthly publishes one exceptional short story or set of poems on the first Monday of every month. Click here to submit your work.