La bandera

Postcard of Ecuador from the 1980s

The yellow, blue, and red
stand Stark against white
mountain caps. Colors bleed
stronger than that absence
of shade. It will always
wave, louder and brighter
than the snow surrounding.
It calls us home.

Originally shared here.

Published Poetry & Fiction

Hello readers! Thank you for those who responded to my readers survey. I have reviewed the results and will start planning my content accordingly.

I appreciate your input and the time you took to help make my blog better. While I plan and prepare to make certain changes to content creation, I’d like to announce my most recent publications.

This is the Latino Book Review’s inaugural issue and I am honored to be featured in it as a poet. Both a print and digital edition are available for anyone who wants to support.

I also have a short fantasy piece featured in Z Publishing House’s
America’s Emerging Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers: The Deep South.

Thank you all again for participating in the survey and for any support you can give. If you can’t purchase copies of these publications, please share with your friends and networks.

Happy reading!

Best Friend Strangers

Read my poem about the joys of travel friendships

The thing about traveling is that
you make temporary best friends
wherever you go. You meet a complete
stranger who overheard you say
you’re from Florida, next thing
you know you’re bonding over
how fucking cold it is in Ireland
for you two. You and your roommate
for the week salivate over parsnips
that seem to come with every meal
and by the time the farewell
dinner rolls around you’re shouting
simultaneously, “Where are the parsnips?”
and laughing at the inside joke.
You all leave and never see each
other again, never speak, but click
like on Facebook. Somehow
still bonded for life. Strangers
yet best friends by this shared experience.

Originally posted here.

Meagan Reads Poetry: My Mother Was a Freedom Fighter by Aja Monet

I saw Aja Monet read at a poetry panel at the Miami Book Fair a couple of years back, and immediately knew I needed to pick up her book. It took me a while to do that because every time I went to look for it in a store, it was out of stock. That should tell you something right away. I finally found it at a store in Boston though, so I could finally read it!

My Mother Was a Freedom Fighter is a collection of poetry dedicated to the strength and vulnerability of women of color who straddle multiple worlds at once. The voice of so many of the poems feels soft, but strong, like a quiet passion. It’s feminine and reverent, like a prayer to a goddess.

Monet creates subtle, but powerful lines that evoke a primal emotion, like these:

"i cannot tell the difference
between her wailing and mine
my mother does not know
we are sisters"

In poems like “ree ree ree,” Monet uses solid images to convey a simultaneous sense of womanhood and the weight that comes with that identity, as well as freedom from identity afforded by childhood:

"how black and brown girls
gather and peel
comparing stretch marks
and playground scars."

Poems like “the young” give a raw and visceral feeling with images that pound on you as hard as the piece’s rhythm itself. This combination of detailed imagery with disciplined rhythms works to make a piece of art that hits hard.

The poems with short staccato lines create spitfire lyricism, while those with longer lines create a rich and lush cadence that conveys a sense of reverence. Monet is also adept at the use of space around words and on the page to convey sound instead of silence. The visual structure of the poems makes it feel like the blank space between words is louder than the words themselves.

Monet’s specific choice to use no capitalization and very little punctuation also plays into this sense of prayer within poetry. The collection reads as a series of pleas from the men, women, and children from the speaker’s world of simultaneous joy and sorrow.

While the first section focuses more on the power of femininity, the second part of the collection contains a cry for justice. Once again, Monet’s use of space and structure create a visual plea on the page that conveys a sense of urgency that evokes the pain behind the pleas.

The third part of the collection hones in on intimate relationships that have shaped the speaker. In the piece “selah,” Monet states:

"i love my body
when it is with your body"

This language shows a total vulnerability and insecurity that many people have, and yet in that vulnerability there is strength. It’s a personal sentiment, but one that is universal, and that’s what makes Monet’s work so brilliant.

The collection ends with a salient call to “always, be.” It’s a statement that ties the whole book together and reaffirms the very title of the collection, because the speaker knows that merely to exist is to resist, an act that those in the margins are all too familiar with.

I highly recommend this poetry collection to those who want to dive into work that lifts the voices of those who were once made voiceless. It contains so much emotion and power that long after reading, it lingers with you.

Has anyone else read My Mother Was a Freedom Fighter? What are your thoughts on the collection? Any particular poems that stood out to you? Let me know in the comments!

Later Gator

later gator poem

You glide by casually
down the ‘Glades while
our noisy asses throw waves
and ripples in your territory
but still you pay us no mind.
And why would you? We’re chumps
in comparison to your prehistoric
perfected design. Blending with
brackish waters, barely un ojito
to be seen, a trail of bubbles
telling us you just passed and
let us go. We’ll see one of your
brothers later I’m sure. For now
you keep gliding the ‘Glades
never minding our waves.

Originally posted here.

Where It All Began

where it all began

The road so far
is the same that leads
us back. Back to where you
and I come from, where
your ancestors dwelled.
It’s quiet here
and the people don’t care
that we’re here. They figure
we’re just more tourists
come to see the oddity
that is small town life where
everyone knows each other.
The currency flows back
and forth as everyone buys
local and those shopkeepers
live there, buying from one
another. No such thing as credit
here. We sit in peace after our meal
feeling at home. We have to leave
too soon.

Originally posted here.