In SMALL FIRES, José Angel Araguz engages personal mythologies of the self, culture, and place. The crucible of Mexican-American identity is on display: poems about feeling the need to hide one’s Spanish and family history live alongside those dealing with reclaiming and owning one’s language and life. At the center of this collection is a series detailing a divorce where heart and heritage clashed and forged a new beginning. Whether creating a fable of a man who tries to walk across Texas only to turn into a mesquite tree, addressing issues of domestic violence experienced both in childhood and as an adult, or catching up with La Llorona in cafes, saloons, and movie theaters, these poems move with the urgency of the present moment and the intimacy of memory and imagination.
José Angel Araguz is a CantoMundo fellow and the author of seven chapbooks as well as the collections Everything We Think We Hear, Small Fires, Until We Are Level Again, and, most recently, An Empty Pot’s Darkness. His poems, creative nonfiction, and reviews have appeared in Crab Creek Review, Prairie Schooner, New South, Poetry International, and The Bind. Born and raised in Corpus Christi, Texas, he runs the poetry blog The Friday Influence and composes erasure poems on the Instagram account @poetryamano. He is also a faculty member in Pine Manor College’s Solstice Low-Residency MFA program. With an MFA from New York University and a PhD from the University of Cincinnati, José is an Assistant Professor of English at Suffolk University in Boston where he also serves as Editor-in-Chief of Salamander Magazine.
We are the publisher, so all of our authors get five stars from us. Excerpts:
MESQUITE
One day, a man decided he could walk across Texas and grew old trying, lost his way, ended up twisted, turned around on himself, reaching out an arm, then another, and then another, until he was only arms pointing all around at the horizon—his skin hardened, but his body began to snap, and could be picked up easily by the hands of children at their games, pretending at divining water, writing curses in the dirt, later dropping him into the fire, not all of him, only a piece, a broken part of him he knew would only just grow back, and he would let it—his heart burst into sap, a dark seen through, slugging down toward feet that have forgotten where they were going.
ALIEN
When I heard this word first thrown around in conversation, my family’s Spanish cracked to let in this strange stretch of cautious whisper, the weather changed in my mind. I’d read of spaceships, of planets so advanced you could travel freely, no stopping to be asked about citizenship, no stone face behind a badge peering to where I sat in the backseat. The world became another place. The word wetback began to bring to mind the scene where the dark creature burst from a woman’s stomach in a movie. The sky grew overcast in my mother’s eyes, kept her inside, when someone talked of borders. Rosaries turned secret communicators. Prayers: reports of worry and want. Each crucifix, a satellite. Before, I would stand outside and look at what I felt to be not empty space but an open window to another life. Now, another life invaded. There were people with papers, and there were people without. There were questions I was told the answers to should they come up. There were stories I was asked to forget. When my mother pressed the silver face of St. Jude into my palm, I felt the weight of it, the cold and unfamiliar feel of what I didn’t know.
This collection really grew on me. I loved every single poem in Section 3, not to say the first two sections weren't as strong, Section 2 in particular had a strong impact on me, but Section 3 was my favorite. Trigger Warning for abuse. There is domestic abuse as well as child abuse discussed throughout, but don't let that throw you off the whole collection. Small Fires reads as autobiographical and heartfelt, a strong Mexican influence and great writing, I definitely recommend this collection!