Rufino Tamayo’s painting “El Hombre,” the inspiration for this poem, shows a man both grounded powerfully into the earth and reaching up to the heavens. Here the novelist and poet Sandra Cisneros gives a close account of several struggling hombres, situating them compassionately in the broader context of Mexico-U. S. relations.
On the eve of International Women’s Day
In a field on the road to Celaya
They find her body.
The deaf-mute girl who
Walked her dog in Parque Juárez.
No one tried, blamed, named.
The town knows:
It’s her father’s debts.
This is how they pay
Un hombre who can’t pay.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
In small print, in the back
Pages of today’s paper,
I read this small news:
Un Hombre Purépecha
Lifted from His Purépecha Village.
Daily the Purépechas demand his return.
Daily el hombre does not return.
He is only one of the many “lifted.”
When you are native in your native land
To whom do you demand? Who listens?
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
The bird merchant at the Tuesday mercado,
Six cages of cenzontles strapped on his back,
Shoves a mesh shopping bag so close
To my face, I have to step back to see.
A flutter of frightened canaries.
In the eyes of el hombre,
The same urgency, the same fear.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
The gringo Alan tells me the story
Of the pig who thought he was a dog.
Solovino he was called,
Because he came alone.
How each day Alan drove
Along the road to Dolores,
The dogs would run from
The squatter’s shack and give chase,
The pig who thought he was a dog
Trotting behind them.
Until one day the pig isn’t there.
The dogs disappear too.
One by one by one.
Alan shrugs.
When un hombre is hungry,
There is no one to blame.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
The “Religion” section of
Our Guanajuato newspaper
Features an article on St. Francis,
Un hombre of austerity, as
A model for all to live in poverty.
This in a country where almost every
Hombre, mujer y niño is already
On the path to sainthood.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
How it happened was like this.
One night Rosana catches un hombre
Breaking into her grocery store,
The son of a neighbor.
Her shouts wake the barrio.
They’re able to hold the thief
Until the police arrive.
Rosana is there to bear witness
At the court proceedings. And to
Witness the court set him free.
She gathers her pain in a handkerchief,
Goes home and calls the boy’s mother.
Rosana and the mother of the thief. Each
Woman lets loose a sea of grief.
When she tells me this story,
The sea is still there in Rosana’s eyes.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
Carlos and Raúl, the silver-tongued
Poets of Chicano, Illinois, have never
Been to the country of their ancestry,
Though they’re silver-haired hombres.
When I invite them south, they refuse.
They’re afraid of bad hombres.
No one has told them
The ones who buy drugs and
Sell arms to los bad hombres
Are U.S. citizens.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
The blind harmonica player,
Un hombre who plays “Camino de Guanajuato”
In front of Banco Santander,
Clutches his baseball cap of small coins
Whenever he hears someone running too close.
No vale nada la vida, la vida no vale nada.
Life’s worth nothing, nothing is what life’s worth.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
Un hombre tells me:
You don’t even have to learn Spanish to live here.
Amado the San Miguel realtor.
You can train your staff to do what you need,
And you don’t have to pay them much either.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
Dallas, 1953.
A seer named Stanley Marcus
Purchases a mural by Rufino Tamayo
To reinforce friendship between
Texas and Mexico.
This in a time in history
When Texas still posts
Signs on restaurants:
“No dogs or Mexicans.”
The painting is of un hombre
Anchored to the earth
Reaching for the heavens,
A balance of earth and sky,
North and south, yours and mine.
Because the universe is
About interconnection.
Tamayo calls this painting,
Man Excelling Himself.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
Message from Mexico to
The United States of America:
When we are safe, you are safe.
When you are safe, we are safe.
Tell this to your politicians.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
There is a Mexican saying,
Hablando se entiende la gente.
Talking to one another
We understand one another.
I would add: And listening
We understand even better.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
Mándanos luz. Send us all light.
More on this book and author:
Learn more about Woman Without Shame by Sandra Cisneros.
Browse our special Everyman's Library edition of The House on Mango Street and other books by Sandra Cisneros; you can follow her @officialsandracisneros on Instagram and @sandracisnerosauthor on Facebook.
On April 12, Sandra Cisneros will appear on two panels at the San Antonio Books Festival.
Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.
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