cry | COVID-19

Miguel M. Morales

Strange, 

I have not 

cried from 

the horror we 

are enduring.

Instead, 

I have cried 

because of 

the beauty 

in kindness and 

in song and 

in voices and 

in smiles and 

in laughter. 

I legit cried 

watching a 

livestream of 

ocean waves 

crashing on a 

Hawaiian beach. 

But I know that

a bitter cry is

coming ...

My Ferguson Story

I didn't want to leave the house today.

After last night's news of the failed successful non-indictment of Michael Brown's killer, I just didn't want to see people going about their lives. I didn't want to hear helpless sighs and patronizing conversations about healing or moving forward. I didnt want to hear people's mouths shooting details of the riots or debating the character of a dead boy.

But I had an engagement at the Kansas City Art Institute and I promised a friend that I'd attend. So I dragged my brown ass to downtown KCMO and roamed the campus like someone's lost father as I looked for the venue.

Inside the small auditorium students gathered displaying their work, sharing food, and ... they were living. They were laughing and having fun. It kinda bothered me. I mean, how dare they?

As I looked closer I could see the students were Latino. The art was Latino. The food was Latino. My cheeks started to burn and my chest tightened.

I realized this is where I needed to be. I needed to be around the young creative energy of my own culture, not locked away in my house Tweeting and posting my outrage.

As part if the event, the organizers asked my friend Maria and I to read a few poems. Not having brought my notebook, I briefly panicked but then I remembered I'd uploaded some poems to my Google Drive for just such an occasion.

I read one of my fat poems, I'm Big and I'm Brown All the Way Down; my poem about being the first to go to college, F1RST; and my signature poem, Madre de los Campos.

After that poem, which deals with my frustration as a young kid at being a farmworker, I wanted to talk to about Ferguson. I needed to talk about it. I was experiencing the same frustration as the boy in my poem but at the same time I felt the safety and comfort of the room.

We talked about our art. We talked about how we long to create beauty and joy through our work but that there is also beauty in pain. We have a gift and sometimes that gift requires sitting in our pain, processing it, and putting it through the artist's lens.

It means taking what's inside our hearts, inside our heads and on our tongues and putting it in words, on canvas, or in clay -- that's our ability, our gift. It's our super power. In doing so, we can help others process their feelings. We can stand as examples to young people on creative ways to deal with these difficult emotions that make so many turn to, and live in, rage or to simply shut down -- shut down like I wanted to do hours earlier.

I don't know what will come from the meeting today. Hopefully it will be the beginning of new partnerships and collaborations for area Latinos in the arts.

But for now, for this moment, it's what I needed. I needed to be among brown and black faces who connected in a safe space surrounded by and sharing our creative energy.

That's my Ferguson story.

LLF DAY1: Ghosts of Fellows Past

The day started at 2 AM with me loading up the car and driving to the Kansas City airport.
Economy lot.
Bus to the terminal.
Check-in.
TSA molestation.
Waiting for an hour to board.

Soccer boys on the plane.
Won the championship in KC.
One fell asleep on my shoulder.
He apologized then did it again.

Landed at LAX.
Went hunting for queer writers.
Went to the observation deck of that white thingy that looks like two McDonald's french fries crossed.

Waited for queers.

Waited for queers here.

Queers landing at American Jewish University

Gays lounging

Immediately after arriving, I felt a longing for last year's Lambda Fellows who weren't there with me. I took a moment to sort of absorb it for them and send them good energy to remind us of our time here last summer. 

I also made the decision that in order for me to get the most out of this year's workshop, I needed to be fully present. That means not longing for last year or for boring the new fellows with tales of how we did things -- unless they asked.

They're a fine group of writers and I owe it to them, and myself, not to cast a shadow on this year's experience. Though I feel the essence of last years fellows are here with me. And it feels nice.

So with that, I posted a message on Facebook to last year's fellows asking them for any advice to impart to this year's group.

2012 YA Lambda Literary Fellows

GOOOOAAAAAALLLLL!!!!!!!!!!

Thanks to everyone who donated to my Lambda Literary Foundation fund! 

I needed to collect a whopping $1,300 and you guys exceeded that goal by $170!!

The excess funds do not go to me but they will go to the Lambda Literary Foundation which does so much to support LGBT and Queer writers. Thank you for encouraging my efforts and strengthening them.

Please follow me on Facebook and Twitter to keep track of my progress at the Writers Retreat for Emerging LGBT Voices!

You can follow more of this year's LLF fellows by tracking the #LLFellows2013 hashtag

¡Otra Vez!

I'M A RETURNING LLF FELLOW!

2012 LLF Fellows Kima  Jones and Miguel M. Morales. photo by Kima Jones

How exciting to be a one of the few Lambda Literary Foundation Fellows who'll return to the LLF familia for the Writers Retreat for Emerging LGBT Voices at the American Jewish University campus in Los Angeles this summer!

Unfortunately, returning fellows are not eligible for scholarships. That means your Miguel has to come up with $1,650 $1,300 for tuition/board as well as secure my own travel.YIKES!!

Last year, I kept donors updated on my progress at the retreat using this blog (tagged: LLF) and by posting to Facebook and Twitter. This year I'll continue keeping supporters informed using the same backchannels.

The retreat takes place July 28-Aug. 4 so I'm offering the following:

▼ Anyone making a donation (any amount) will receive an original poem, short story, or essay.

▼ Anyone donating $50 or more will receive an autographed limited-edition bound compilation of my work.

▼ Anyone donating $100 or more will receive the autographed limited-edition bound compilation, a CD of some of my readings and speeches, and some sort of tote bag (hey, it works for PBS!).

Making a tax-deductible donation, is easy and safe -- simply click the DonorPages graph in the upper right corner or at the end of this post.

To inquire about supporting my travel expenses (not included as part of this Donor Page account), please contact me on Facebook or Twitter. Thanks!!

ABOUT MIGUEL

I live in Kansas but grew up in the Texas panhandle working as a migrant farmworker and child laborer. As a journalist, I earned the Society of Professional Journalists’ First Amendment Award. I currently serve on the board of The Latino Writers Collective board. I am also a founding member of Fabulous Queer Writers of Kansas City! 

My work is featured in: 

• Primera Página: Poetry from the Latino Heartland 
• Cuentos del Centro: Stories from the Latino Heartland 
• From Macho to Mariposa: New Gay Latino Fiction 
• To the Stars Through Difficulties: A Kansas Renga in 150 Voices 
• Joto: An Anthology of Queer Xicano & Chicano Poetry (forthcoming) 

ABOUT MIGUEL'S LLF PROJECT

I am working on an LGBT YA novel about a gay migrant farmworker and his family. In addition to being from this community, I help facilitate writers workshops for migrant youth. Trust me, these stories need to be told. This project takes inspiration from those students and from the works of Rigoberto González, Sandra Cisneros, and many others. A side project has developed from this effort -- a poetry manuscript detailing the life of migrant youth. 

I want to thank everyone for their support, not just on this project but for a lifetime of love and encouragement. 

gracias, 

 miguel

i found a cookie in the men’s room | National Poetry Month

I found a cookie in the library men’s room.

It laid on a green paper napkin

on top of a urinal just under

the chrome flushy handle.

It was the kind of cookie

one eats at a reception

and snags a few extras on the way out.

That’s probably what happened.

Except it’s owner drank too many

free sodas poured from cans

into those tiny plastic cups packed with ice

that keeps drinks cool

but melts too quickly and dilutes the drink.

There must have been cheese and crackers

that caused him to drink an excess of soda

or maybe it was the fruit:

red seedless grapes, sliced strawberries,

cut fresh pineapple and multi-colored melons

that cause his over hydration.

Maybe the reception was for a retiring colleague,

perhaps the person who hired him.

And she urged him to take a few extra cookies

because “they’re all paid for”

and she didn't want them to go to waste.

Or perhaps he didn't like the person

and showed up to make sure the old bastard

saw his face one last time.

Perhaps he took the last cookie

knowing it was his nemesis’ favorite.

Maybe a student club was selling

cookies for a fundraiser

and our fine fellow bought one

to support the Queers and Allies

or the Muslim Student Association

or the dance team, who are not cheerleaders

even though they dance with pom-poms.

Whatever the reason, he set his cookie down

on top of a urinal in the library men’s room --

a decision he immediately regretted.

As I left, I almost threw it away

but I liked the thought of the next guy

standing at the urinal confused by a cookie.

Epilogue 

I went back a moment later to take a picture to post to my Facebook page because my Facebook friends would “Like” the hell out of it. But when I came back with my phone, the cookie was gone. I looked in the trash and it wasn’t there.

So either the guy came back for it or someone else was like, “YES, I’LL HAVE A FREE COOKIE!”

Either way -- gross.

LLF DAY 6: BONUS

I Just Totally Posted That!!

Annameekee Hesik, author of "The You Know Who Girls: Freshman Year" reads a found poem compiled from her students' Facebook statuses for one day. The reading takes place at the Lambda Literary Foundation's 2012 Writers Retreat for Emerging LGBT Voices

Venga Renga

This morning as I was getting ready for work, I decided to checked my Facebook page. I don't know why because I'm not the sort of person who has to constantly be checking Facebook or updating my status (well, not anymore).

I had a few of annoying notifications about someone wanting to add me to their calendar app or inviting me to an event that's not even in my part of the country. Then I read a message from someone saying my contribution was "outstanding" and "an important part of Kansas history."

I thought, "Oh crap, what did I do now?"

Then I remembered my contribution to the 2012 Kansas renga must have been posted. The renga "To The Stars Through Difficulty" comes from the state motto: Astra Per Aspera

This project continues celebrating last year's sesquicentennial by inviting 150 poets with Kansas connections share their voices. In a renga, each poem is a conversation with the previous poem.

So please read Dan Pohl's poem before you read mine. Make sure to follow up in a day or so to see how the next poet "converses" with my work.

Here's a few lines from my contribution:

Tender hearts tend the land that belonged to pioneering homesteaders.
Corporate farms hire migrant children who learn to master machetes
rather than their multiplication tables — or their destinies.

Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg, the renga's organizer, announced that Mammoth Publications will publish the renga this fall.

5to de Mayo

A few weeks ago, an foreign language instructor at Johnson County Community College reminded me that it's time to dig out my Cinco de Mayo poems since the holiday was approaching. She surprised me by saying that she uses them in her classes.

So here's my love/hate relationship with Cinco de Mayo ...

Sink-O duh My-O 

I hate that the birthdays of Cesar Chavez and Dolores Huerta
are followed by the embarrassment that is
Sink-O duh My-O.

I hate that many young Latinos will mistakenly toast Mexican Independence
four months early
and on the wrong day.

I hate that shirtless frat boys will host Taco and Tequila parties
where they’ll wear giant sombreros and fake mustaches
and that the women will wear Hawaiian leis and bikinis.

I hate that from the weekend before to the weekend after I will avoid Mexican restaurants
as they reduce our cuisine to cheesy combination platters
and jalapeño eating contests.

I hate that when I walk through the grocery store,
someone will ask me what’s the best brand of tortillas
or which salsa is more authentic.

I hate that someone outside my culture will speak Spanish to me and,
when I don’t respond in Spanish,
will lecture me on how I’m losing my heritage.

I hate that teachers beat my parents for speaking Spanish in school.
And now some yahoo will get in my face to tell me I should learn it
for the one day a year it seems we’re allowed to speak it.

I hate that I must smile through this ignorance, because if I don’t,
I’m an Angry Mexican reinforcing yet another stereotype
by which they judge us.

I hate Sink-O duh My-O.

  * * * * * * * * * 

Cinco de Mayo

I love that summer begins when Maracas shake,
guitars strum and trumpets blast
on Cinco de Mayo.

I love that it initiates the emancipated days of summer
like Junteenth, Gay Pride, Fourth of July
and closes with Hispanic Heritage Month which includes the real Mexican Independence Day.

I love the sound of stomping heels
and the ruffling fabric of whirling dresses
as young folklorico dancers fulfill the tradition of siblings and elders.

I love the smell of roasted peppers,
the sizzle of beef
and how the breeze carries chili powder instead of pollen across the fiesta.

I love that booths offer everything from homemade tacos to HIV testing to la Avon
and that everyone understands the celebration comes from the gathering of community
not the authenticity of the products.

I love that Latino kitsch like the paintings of the Matador and the Señorita,
calendars featuring the Aztec warrior carrying the maiden, and wooden puppets
release childhood memories and reveal cultural meaning.

I love the rhythm that flows from Spanish spoken without shame
on the one day a year everyone wishes they were fluent.
El que sabe dos idiomas vale por dos.

I love that instead of apologizing for our accent, our skin, our hair, our shape,
we celebrate, appreciate and validate our existence
despite the revolución’s evolución into the Mexican St. Patrick’s Day.

I love Cinco de Mayo.

Originally published by Present Magazine in 2009 

and  featured on the Facebook page, Poets Against SB1070 in 2011.