– For Joe José Raúl V
I rechristened myself. A name I failed to use, known only by one man: tall with a large
unbroken heart, deep sonorous voice, a new third passport, a can’t-find-his-home
wanderer, he comes and goes, visits familia, returns to his rechristened country,
explores. He uses all his names. He uses the one I chose. This, calling us by the name
we request, the richest gift, making us visible, oxygenated, we take the shape
we were meant to. He holds space for the person I’d envisioned, who has her own
dictionary, playlists, passwords and logins, has never introduced herself to anyone else.
Somewhere on the path to becoming this second me, I came to peace with the first,
style and stature, flaws and features, unlike the faux armistice of before.
Not until I saw the beautiful sea of dried, brown faces, heads hung bashful,
apologetic in the brutal 114◦ Andalusian summer did I understand my own pure gifts:
seeds and oil rich with a nutty golden glow to season ruby red tomatoes, to anoint
creamy salty black Iberian jamón, even if this delicacy is gifted to others, never savored
on my own tongue.
I reclaim my birth name, accept its weight, the hopes and dreams of honored
ancestors, the only heritage I could have, unfurl my neck and raise my head
tall in a lineage as far as the eye can see, burnish the seeds and liquid essence
you’ll taste at harvest time, no matter what name you use.
LOVE THIS POEM SO MUCH. wow.