By Eric Gamalinda
Eric Gamalinda's Amigo struggle is a gorgeous meditation on identification and the methods we hook up with ourselves, with one another, and with the realm: Grief is a kingdom of each person a rustic without boundary lines. Gamalinda's voice soars and swoops via impressive, heartbreaking language, providing convenience amid the grief all of us percentage. In Gamalinda's poems, we're on their lonesome, jointly.
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Extra resources for Amigo Warfare: Poems
She’s looking for something to believe in, beyond the obvious that’s too bright, too close to see. Dear Eric, he writes, I run to you only when I’m on the verge of disintegrating. Summer in the tropics is all Lent, all repentance and resurrection, and I’m sick of it. She sticks her thumbs into the scabbed stigmata of my hands. I feel no pain. She tells me war is inescapable. You must bomb a few towns if you want peace. If we have children, they will be among the nine out of ten who will never speak in the future tense.
Because you send a shining fleet of your youngest men, lust still forming in their bones. Because their bodies rape the bodies of our neighbors. Because you sleep soundly through it all. Because you divide us from our history and install a thousand checkpoints in between. Because you line the streets with bricks torn down from temples, because our sleepless gods wander among the missing. Because your prophets tell us there’s a heaven but there’s no more room. Because you feed your words into our language, and now we speak like strangers to one another.
With your distance you’ve erased all evil and all good. I am alive in your marvelous silence. The streets at dusk open themselves to me, like the bodies of lovers whose scars tell a story so solitary it can only be shared without words. I dream the dreams of all my dead. I invade their emptiness and carry off their names. I will endure this stillness, the smoldering hours that continue to erase me, as though by my birth I have broken a pact, that I remain invisible and small. So I carry everything with me, though it’s almost over, though I’m tired of being strong.
Amigo Warfare: Poems by Eric Gamalinda