I am happy to have discovered the work of poet
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal. I had occasion to exchange email with Luis
and he sent me a copy of his book, Raw Materials.
Luis was born in Mexico and lives in California where he works in the mental
health field. His poems are about madness, cultural displacement,
justice and injustice.
These poems previously appeared in Fearless,
The American Dissident, and The New American Imagist.
The psychiatrist doesn't seem happy.
I fear he's the depressed one.
The psychiatrist isn't very sociable.
I fear he's the one that's guarded.
The psychiatrist isn't helping me at all.
I believe he's not very good.
The psychiatrist isn't very persuasive.
I believe he's the confused one.
My sins are cleansed by the blood of Christ.
The psychiatrist doesn't confide
Or confess the Lord. I can see it in his eyes.
Please, forgive him before he sees God's wrath.
It is a slow death
It begins at grade school
The vocal chords twist
In unusual ways
With practice it gets easier
The accent changes
You could hear it
You used to say "Meester"
but now it is "Mister"
Twenty years of refining
The sound of the words
And still I can't say "shoes"
I say "chus"
And I'm elated
Because it never lets me
Forget my past
The place where I came from
of the Word
Feeling my words
Won't be real
Long after I'm gone
Nothing will survive
Enemies of the word
What they can't sell
Oh, my friends
Let's sing and die