#michael torres

[sinisterpeople]

OC references

[lifeinpoetry]

And isn’t love like that?—a shift / of attention the heart demands, a refocusing.

— Michael Torres, from “Horses,” An Incomplete List of Names

[readingfanficismyhobby]

Has anyone ever thought that Marvel’s entire mission with the tv shows was to mislead and surprise the entire fandom?

Wandavision: We thought there was going to be Mephisto, but there was no Mephisto (not to mention the whole Ralph Boner thing).

FATWS: We thought Torres was going to be the new falcon, but SURPRISE BITCH Sam Wilson is the best of both worlds. They even had Torres get the broken falcon wings to confuse us!

Loki: Is the variant going to be Lady Loki or Sylvie the Enchantress? SURPRISE AGAIN, it’s BOTH!

Not to mention there’s so many theories of how the last episodes of Loki are going to go, there’s no telling which ones if any are right.

Congratulations Marvel, you’ve succeeded.

[poetsandwriters]

Michael Torres, author of An Incomplete List of Names (Beacon Press, 2020), on feeling writer’s block in Writers Recommend.

[lifeinpoetry]

I wanted / to be invisible or unliving. Or both.

— Michael Torres, from “All-American Mexican,” An Incomplete List of Names

[lifeinpoetry]

STOP LOOKING AT MY LAST NAME LIKE THAT

Nothing in my life was crooked or broken. Or potholed. Not haggard or tired. Not poor and unfortunate. Nor merely lucky. No one’s father returned from work with callused palms every evening. No one got to where they were in life with the help of a new-to-the-area teacher, who stopped at nothing until our dreams came to fruition. Please. Our parents paid for those university tours. On weekends, we went out like families do. The zoo, science museums. Summers, my parents said I love you, leaving me at camp where I earned badges spinning twigs until sparks spilled out. In September, no one came to class with torn or tattered clothes. No one got beat up for being less than. Please. Boyhood was a ballad. Our parents sang when they bathed our brothers. No one became what this world carved out of desperation. When it rained, we got picked up from school. At home, a change of clothes on our beds. Yes, we all had our own beds. Yes, each of us had our own room, as well. We made boats out of egg cartons. There were no gunshots or helicopters to stop us from sailing those ships along the curb’s current. With the world ahead, we opened our small yellow umbrellas, some sudden burst of sunlight to walk right into.

— Michael Torres, from An Incomplete List of Names

[lifeinpoetry]

                                                   Fuck your butterflies, your lilacs and sunsets.                                                    Fuck your hillsides, your candlelight of fear.

                   I’m building my own country.

— Michael Torres, from “All-American Mexican Story #3,” published in The Missouri Review

[earthcirca]

i feel like a beige mom with these fits