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things that shine in the night

1970 –

^{from "The Bordercrosser's Pillowbook"}

Fulgencio's silver crown—when he snores
the moon, coin of Judas, glaring
at the smaller metals we call stars
my buckle
the tips of my boots
the stones in my kidneys
an earring
a tear on the cheek
the forked paths of a zipper
the blade of the pocketknife triggering open
the blade of the pocketknife seducing the orange
the blade of the pocketknife salivating
the blade of the pocketknife
the word México
the word migra

Rigoberto Gonzalez — Photo credit: Marion Ettlinger

Rigoberto González was born in Bakersfield, California, on July 18, 1970, but lived in Michoacán, Mexico, until the age of ten. The son of migrant farm workers, González traveled between the United States and Mexico for much of his childhood. He earned a degree in humanities and social sciences interdisciplinary studies from the University of California, Riverside, and an MFA from Arizona State University in Tempe.

About Rigoberto González

Occasion

Hispanic Heritage Month

Themes

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More by this poet

Cage

In a world of loss
     gratitude is what
          I demand for keeping
     precious catch
within my reach.
     No one despises
          the shepherd for
     collecting his flock.
No one accuses
     the watchman of

Rigoberto González

2019

from “Apocalipsixtlán” [12. A Second Crack in the Earth]

The pond of bones begins to rattle. Even Mother’s
    throne collapses, her body disassembles. The ground
turns to quicksand as it trembles and swallows
    every socket, every thorn, every pebble. In a single
gulp the bed beneath the Smaller Ones swirls down
    a funnel. The earth has groaned like this before.
We know what to expect though it doesn’t help
    us guess which plate will lift its crust and which
will crumble. The dust is blinding. It separates us
    as we scramble. Unknowingly, some of us run

Rigoberto González

2019

from “Apocalipsixtlán” [5. Signs of the End of the World]

The right path. The phrase echoes in our heads
     as we travel west, away from the crack in the earth.
There is no way around it. Some say it connects
     Tierra del Fuego to the North Pole and cuts deep
down to the core—a wound that lets the heat escape
     each minute of the day. When all of the Américas

Rigoberto González

2019

Poems

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things that shine in the night

More by this poet

Cage

from “Apocalipsixtlán” [12. A Second Crack in the Earth]

from “Apocalipsixtlán” [5. Signs of the End of the World]

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