3 poems by FPL Poetry Series host, Oscar Peña

 

Oscar C. Peña was born and raised in Kingsville, Texas.  His poetry reflects a love of family, growing up in a small town and a belief that joy, pain, sorrow, laughter and love are meant to be shared.

A member of The Poetry Society of Texas, Gulf Coast Poets, and the Galveston Poets Round Table, Oscar has been a featured poet at the Webster Barnes and Noble; Seabrook Coffee Oasis Poetry Reading Series; and was a Juried Poet at the 2007 Houston Poetry Fest.

The three poems below are from Oscar C. Peña's book Fire of Thorns.

Protest at Saint Martin’s

My mother gave me two dimes

before mass started---

one’s for you and one’s for God.

Men reached out with baskets

and she noticed I gave nothing.

Give the man themuuuney!

I cannn’t.

Did you lose your dime?

Nooo, just God’s, I whispered in reply.

Eight years old and dry-mouthed nervous

during first communion; when Padre José places

the hostia on my tongue the wafer flutters

in my mouth and hangs there like a bat.

My tongue stabs at the intruder, my eyes are melting,

I’m gonna vomit if I don’t spit.

A woman, in widow’s black, grabs

and pulls me to her bosom.  Her rosary worrying my teeth,

she jabs a gnarled finger and rams the cracker

down my throat.

It was a miracle---

That night…

Amá, I was kinda wondering…

Mom interrupted---

don’t worry, God will find his dime.

~~Oscar Peña

Cibola

This mythical city of gold drew Conquistadores

to the new world in search of that which does not exist.

I look into the water

and see what others do not,

viridian, ochre, gold, beryllium ores

of rose, emerald and aquamarine,

coral, silver, yellowed reds and jade.

Dive deep,

reaching for what calls

a little deeper,

but I cannot touch.

Now afraid

the surface far above

I turn back

and swim, and swim, and swim.

Help me,

tired, too far---

I break into the light,

gasp the air and vow never…

I look into the water

and see what others do not,

viridian, ochre, gold, beryllium ores---

And I dive.

~~Oscar Peña

Carlotta

My father said,

    I took care of my sister

    when I was eight years old

    while Papá y Mamá picked cotton.

    We stayed under a tin roof

     hiding from the sun.

     She died.

My father said,

    I walked with Papá

    and other men to a ranch

    near the town of Carlotta to collect wages---

    no one went to knock

    or call the man out.

My father said,

    Ranchos always have dogs looking for an excuse,

    we were announced … we waited…

    kicked rocks and waited…

    talked about weather and women… and waited.

    The man finally came out and asked what we wanted.

     I hated that man.

My father said---

    Lo odio.

Seventy years and his words still dripped

strong and sweet as wild honey

waiting to sting.

My father never told me his sister’s name.

~~Oscar Peña