Anuel Rodriguez is a Mexican-American poet living in the San Francisco Bay Area. His poetry has appeared in The Road Not Taken.

Poets Resist
Edited by Samantha Duncan
March 18, 2019

Anuel Rodriguez

Castaways

My eye floaters don’t make me think of the coiled rattlesnakes on Gadsden flags. On my iPhone, I’m listening to a slowed down version of Frank Ocean’s “Nights” while watching part of a nature show about a species of bird that disperses plant seeds to oceanic islands and can stay in the air for four years. An island appears on the TV screen and from an aerial view, it looks like a slice of blue agate. One of the next shots is of a bird gliding over water with a piece of plant dangling from its body and I’m waiting for it to fall at any second. It doesn’t make me think of brown children clinging to their mothers as they cross rivers and carpets of sand and bone until their shoes wear away. It doesn’t make me think of my grandmother as a little girl in Mexico eating spoonfuls of sugar and cleaning bird cages inside a quinta after her family had to relocate following the passing of her father from typhoid. She came to this country with a dream the size of a seed lodged in her lung, having once thought that oranges and peanuts made her rich. A random shot of a coconut floating in the sea doesn’t make me think of the white baby chasing a dollar on Nirvana’s Nevermind cover. It doesn’t make me think of taking pages of my Moleskine notebook and stuffing them down my throat and into my glass stomach before I cast myself away and wait for someone to find me and read the poetry of my insides titled DONT TREAD ON ME.


Poets Resist is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.