Those Flowers

Ángel García

Stanza one, marked by a bullet point, in italics: Follow the sources. Stanza two, left-aligned: I search through hundreds of documents: birth certificates: baptismal records: marriage licenses: church records: death certificates: to find who you are: who we are: where we are: where we've been: where we've come from: what we've come through: Stanza three, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What sources can you trust? Stanza four, in cascading lines: I hunch good the good light: squint & distance documents :days: months: years: decipher details: I don't know I can trust: 19th century script: colloquialisms :regional procedure: 1851 or 1857: a or an o: your name misspelled: procerpina: proserpina: the one: I mourn. the other: I remember: Stanza five, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What is your relationship to this research? Stanza six, in cascading lines: I struggle to understand :how history speaks days: months: years: of strangers: stranger places: :their names in my mouth like foil Stanza one, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What gaps exist? What silences? Stanza two, in two lines, spaced out across the page: [no results found] [400 Bad Request] [no entries found] [503 Service Unavailable] [refine search] [502 Bad Gate-way] Stanza three, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What variables have you not considered? Stanza four, justified and center-aligned: Los documentos que busca: son demasiado viejos: nuestros archivos solo datan a 1920: si desea acceder a esos documentos: deberá ir al archivo: en la cuidad: estás en el lugar equivocado Stanza five, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What is your relationship to this research? Stanza six, one long line: you: alive: the early morning haloing: from one side: to the other: until we: meet: in light: Stanza seven, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What gaps exist? What silences? Stanza eight, alternating between right- and left-aligned: Twenty years after your passing: I read you: :inside a repurposed 5 subject: Stanza one, alternating between left- and right-aligned, with a handwritten Spanish passage: spiral bound notebook: :I can't be certain the year [xxxxxxxxxxxxx]: :[xxxxxxxxxxxxx] you put pen to paper: "La historia de mi vida de proserpina palma de estrada" :how long it took to handwrite: an entire lifetime: :inside 11in x 8(1/2)in struggled print: scrawled: blue ink, black ink :41 college-ruled pages Stanza two, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What sources can contribute? Stanza three, justified: every photograph: of you: I find: I collect it: sort it: match it: to place: match to year: a page number: peer through the loop: to decipher: I stare: into: your eyes: so long: you begin to fade: into the stacks of phots: you: and you: and you: and you: the myriad versions: of meaning: repeated until meaning: is lost: abuelita: abuelita: abuelita: abuelita: so many: possibilities: left behind: Stanza four, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What sources can contribute? Stanza five, center-aligned: artifacts: possible: postcards: possible: ticket stubs: possible: wedding cake: possible: automobiles: possible: lies: possible: metaphor: possible: albums: possible: lyrics: possible: letters: possible: song titles: possible: names: possible: parents: possible: prayer cards: possible: translations: possible: a crucifix: possible: a map: possible: a name: possible: a child: possible: a gift: possible: a two-dollar bill: possible: a recipe card: possible: a carrot cake: possible: a love: possible: a life: possible: a love story: possible: alive: possible: a love: possible: regret: possible: a denial: possible: a confession: Stanza one, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What gaps exist? What silences? Stanza two, justified and right-aligned, shifting slightly to the right in the middle: how much do you remember: how much can you trust that memory: what is memory: what is made up: when did you first make believe: imagine: when did you know: how did you trust yourself to tell your story: when did it happen: how long ago was it why does it feel fresh still: is this trauma: a close call: a retelling: a rumor: did you make it up along the way: exaggerate facts: did you call yourself out on it: did you remember: didn't you: how much did you remember: are we back at the beginning: Stanza three, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What sources can you trust? Stanza four, left-aligned: not that one: that one there: no one listens: except the dead: no one: listening: the dead: the dead: no one mourning: Stanza five, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What is your relationship to these sources? Stanza six, left-aligned: the simplest way of doing this: write what we miss: Stanza one, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What are your sources? Stanza two, center-aligned: I : imagine Stanza three, marked by a bullet point, in italics: How do you organize those sources? Stanza four, left-aligned: organize: loneliness :: sosry: one absence: after another :: stack: one dearth: onto another dearth: dearth on death :: collate: the unmarked graves: arrange: my hands: around your heart: pumping :: compile: her father: there at her grave: crying out for her: lips wet with regret :: organize: a father: organize: another father: organize: them all: and tell them: what they matter: Stanza five, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What other sources might you use? Stanza six, left-aligned: a chorus Stanza seven, marked by a bullet point, in italics: What sources still need translating: Stanza eight, left-aligned: : a step through your doorway : a home : jacaranda blossoms Stanza one, left-aligned: : purpling your front yard : the red and pink rose bushes : bright : the night blooming jasmine : each flower: a star : falling backward

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Headshot of Ángel García

Ángel García, the proud son of Mexican immigrants, is the author of Indifferent Cities (Tupelo Press), winner of a Helena Whitehill Book award and Teeth Never Sleep (University of Arkansas Press), recipient of a CantoMundo Poetry Prize, an American Book Award, and finalist for a PEN America Open Book Award and a Kate Tufts Award. His work has been published in the American Poetry Review, McSweeney’s, Crab Orchard Review, Huizache, The Acentos Review, and most recently in Mānoa: A Pacific Journal of International Writing, and Copper Nickel. The recipient of fellowships from CantoMundo, Community of Writers, Vermont Studio Center, and MacDowell, Ángel is currently working on a third collection of poetry about the mid-19th century hacienda in Yucatán, Mexico.

Through one state to another, from one country to the next Indifferent Cities traverses both distance and time to reconcile the most confounding reality of family: our people, sometimes, are the people we know least. Utilizing forms such as ekphrasis and epistolary, the collection sources photographs, postcards, and official documents as well as rumor, suspicion, and supposition to uncover the consequences, by choice or circumstance, of migration and immigration between Mexico and the United States across four generations.

Surveying the terrain of what one knows and does not know, what one inherits and disinherits, Indifferent Cities wrestles with every departure, each arrival, and the author’s inevitable return to determine where and to who he belongs.

“Ángel García’s Indifferent Cities has the feel of an epic journey: a quest for a return, to find a family, to find a name, a history, an identity. Along the way, the poet’s multilingual documentations of the diasporic Americas suggest that movement is both a politics and a poetics: where not knowing is an epistemological position that is central to the experience of trying to understand how the forces of history have shaped who you are and what your body and words might become.”
—Daniel Borzutzky, winner of the National Book Award for Poetry

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