Rolando André López
WE ARE SO VIOLENT
That if you squeeze a newspaper
As you would a sponge,
Lo que sale es sangre.
What pours out is blood.
What my teacher Maricuca said.
Maricuca was an old lady.
I was 8 or 9. It was 1998 or 1999.
Maricuca died in 2020. She changed my life
when I was 8, or 9, or both. She was
My fourth grade teacher. And
When I was 8 or 9 Home was a House
But School was not a House.
In fourth Grade School is a Terrible
Feeling both ordinary and stupid.
I was not like the smart kids
Who played video games all weekend
And got A’s anyway. I was dumb
About the math problems and
Hated writing in cursive.
And I was convinced the play
Ground kids were right when
They called me a maricón and
Laughed about my hair. Keili
is a scared little child in my class.
She’s in fourth grade and I am
Her teacher. When I give her
The integrity awards, the
Jealous students hiss—
Why not me? Why her?
All she does is walk around tiny
And we don’t even bully her.
Maricuca took care of me.
I was her baby. She taught
Me hard work and the earned A.
She’s just a baby. Keili,
Her second name is Quiche.
Ashley and Monse have taken
Her on as a little sister. They
Are protective over her.
As in the Mayan people living
in the midwestern highlands
of Guatemala. That is where
Keili comes from. She is so
Little when she smiles
At me in the schoolyard.
Poems are sacred things that
Happen to you in a play
Ground flash, poets are small
Like people are in the child
Hood of the Universe
In her previous school they
Bullied her for her size.
Here they bully Rofaidah
Because she’s from Palestine
And Keili
So little when she smiles
At me during el receso
I don’t tell her your face is
A library. Or your eyes are
A temple. I just see an old lady.
She’s my teacher, Time
Out of Mind I tell Ashley
And Monse, Look after her.
She’s vulnerable.
Bio
Rolando André López