Ars Poética for a First G(ay)eneration Mexican-American

A poem by Saúl Hernández

I lick every drop of sperm off a white man"s navel, 

put my lips on his shaft,  

his hand grips the back of my neck,  

I open my mouth to swallow again,  

Tell me something in Spanish.  

Sound of my slob in the air,  

Tell me something  

 in Spanish, Tell me  

something in Spanish,  

Tell me something  

 in Spanish. 

That’s how English asphyxiates me. 

When the doctor pulled me out of Amá by the legs,  

my body came out in the shape of the letter Y.  

When the nurse asked Amá what she would name me  

she took off the accent from my name.  

Gave me to English at birth. Sometime I ask myself:  

if Spanish is my first language 

or if it’s shame. 

In the third grade my ESL teacher handed me English  

in a book. Every word entered me  

the way I penetrated a white man: eagerly & willing.  

Yesterday I was reminded the word animal  

is spelled the same in English & Spanish;  

when the white Border Patrol spilled water on the floor  

& told Apá, Drink you animal!  

.  

I don’t remember at what age I became a translator 

for my parents. My earliest memory is at the doctor,  

telling him the symptoms Amá was feeling. 

When I told my parents I’m gay 

I didn’t need to translate. 

To ask for help has the same sound in any language. 

More than once a white man has broken into me— 

a cop on night duty licked my neck, I love Latin men.

Afterwards his head on my stomach, 

Last night I arrested a man who looked like you. 

One morning I heard Amá practicing English  

from an Inglés Sin Barreras Tape. She wrote down words  

on her notepad, mimicked the sound from the white man.  

English has a pulse, I could hear it in her throat  

& in mine.

Saúl Hernández is a queer writer from San Antonio, TX who was raised by undocumented parents. Saúl has an MFA in Creative Writing from The University of Texas at El Paso. Saúl’s debut poetry collection, How to Kill a Goat & Other Monsters, is forthcoming March 2024, University of Wisconsin Press. He's the winner of both the 2022 Pleiades Prufer Poetry Prize (judged by Joy Priest) & the 2021 Two Sylvias Press Chapbook Prize (judged by Victoria Chang). His poems have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize & Best of The Net. Saúl’s work is forthcoming/featured in Pleiades, Split This Rock, & elsewhere.

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Twitter (X): @el_saulhdez