Poetry is the format I struggle with the most. I love prose, I have fun with prose. Poetry, on the other hand, slows me down like no other. I enjoy reading other people’s work, from Rupi Kaur to John Milton. Writing poetry had been difficult for me since I left the seventh grade, and stopped feeling like the only way of expressing my feelings was to agonize over a boy in verse. Rhyming verse. The memory of those days makes me cringe enough to never want to attempt it again.
For “My Grandfather Was a Migrant Picker” I drew on the feeling of separation I have felt since moving to New York. My mother’s side of the family came to the United States and settled in Chicago, where I was raised, and where everyone else remained. The inevitable feeling of homesickness comes in waves, but I didn’t anticipate feeling a real loss when it came to the expression of Mexican culture. Where I was once surrounded by a singular tradition, a dialect, and cuisine, I am now lost in cheesy restaurant decorations, an entirely different Spanish, and the impossible quest for a preservative-free tortilla.
Drifting farther away from my grandfather’s experience of living in Mexico and facing the hardships of beginning a life in the U.S. made me feel more alienated from the culture I had taken for granted my entire life. I sought out Mexican life in any form possible, consuming movies and books alike. I came upon my boyfriend’s copy of And the Earth Did Not Swallow Him, the short novel outlining the life of a young boy as a Mexican migrant picker. The grueling conditions made me think of my own grandfather, who passed when I was an infant. What would he think of his family now, fully Americanized? This brought me to imagining his life before mine, and when I put pen to paper, this is what became of it.
For “Maybe I’ll Move” the picture is a little more clear. Dwelling once more on the concept of home made me consider my living situations, past and present. Now happily stowed away in Fort George, I considered when life wasn’t so friendly.
We’ve all had bad roommates before, but when dirty dishes and high electric bills give way to intimidation and physical violence, the experience shifts. I’ve had my own adventure with Craigslist rooming, and suffice it to say that it is a mistake I will only make once. The change in relationship with friends when you move in together is a different experience was well. Where absence keeps the heart fond, intimacy can sour any love. It’s a different story when the person who makes you endlessly anxious once made you feel loved and happy. “Maybe I’ll Move” isn’t just a reflection on moving apartments, but the importance of moving on and letting go of relationships that don’t serve us.
