Hugo Esteban RodríguezHugo Esteban Rodríguez is a Mexican-American writer, poet, essayist and educator living in Houston, Texas with his wife and three dogs. He was born and raised in Matamoros, Tamaulipas, Mexico and later in Brownsville, Texas. He considers himself a son of Mexico and the Rio Grande Valley. His work has appeared in Neon Mariposa, Mathematician Transmission, Marias at Sampaguitas, The Airgonaut, The Acentos Review, Spirit's Tincture, HEART Journal, Picaroon Poetry, and the Texas Poetry Calendar. He was formerly an assistant editor for Bartleby Snopes; Latinx Features Editor at Rabble Lit; and currently reads slush for Interstellar Flight Press.
He is a graduate of the University of Texas at Brownsville and the MFA program at the University of Texas at El Paso. His debut collection of short stories, And Other Stories, was released in 2018 through La Casita Grande Editores.
His short story, The Ritual, was longlisted for Wigleaf's Top 50 and was nominated by The Airgonaut as part of their slate for the Pushcart Prize and Best Short Fictions in 2016. On his free time, he enjoys annoying his wife with bad puns; reading and writing short stories and poetry; cooking experiments; listening to podcasts; going to concerts; and supporting the San Antonio Spurs
and an entry on several Wiki pages, notable alumni, writer
expat, exile categorized in the path of least resistance
to the very same labels I now crave
the stereotype of a man bleeding ink stains
in forgotten laundry, absent-minded strands of thought
are fraying leisure (we daydreamed too much)
but Freddy looks on when I leave
and when I come back, impassive in San Benito
a sentinel, and white on green below
points to Brownsville in the South
And our Aztlan, our Zion, Gringolandia, pa’l norte, northbound
crawling through the concrete braids
of U.S. Highways 77 and 83
when I left, I wanted to come back, in songs and letters
and leave the same way: an imprint of home
a river. an island. a daydream in Parker blue
and khaki bags, a breakfast taco
tortilla de harina, barbacoa
wrapped in foil and torn movie stubs
fluttering from Spanish battlements
101 St. Joseph, 80 Fort Brown
black shirts, blue jeans, and shuttered bookstores
I read to escape
I read Rowling, Clancy, Turtledove and Zinn
as I read Sabina, Sabines and lyrics to Mexican rock
heavy metal and norteña, like now I read Cisneros
and Butcher, Strand and Lorca, Saenz and Abnett
I read to escape
a beat-up Ford and southbound windows facing operating systems that demanded we congregate
in a Sunrise, north into silver screens and and tortas and pizza and chicken
and I listened
when Freddy played rancheras, he played country and he played Tejano and he played swamp pop
and rock and roll with the Texas Tornados
and Los Super 7
and I listened
to Freddy and Baldemar Garza Huerta
Anglicized is what's prized, but I took my father's name
And I took my mother’s name, their example
Rodriguez, Castañeda, labor of love, love of labor
and I want
to write my own corridos like my grandfather
and represent my Matamoros, my Valley
lo nuestro, lo mio, ours and mine,
the sabal and nopal both drink from the Rio
and I want
To be called Mexicatl, because Mexica Tiahui
Call me Texan, independent
Call me Anahuac, so close to my baptismal
Gulf of Mexico
call me like you call the river,
Bravo, Grande
Like los maestros who nurtured poetry
through song, dance and rebellion
change under the sign of Venus
the delta, a floodplain
and in the skies above, dos aguilas, two eagles
chase the duende, chase the dragon
I crossed during the day through los tomates
Bridges old and new, bridges to el norte
A man in blue asks me
“Nada que declarar? Nothing to declare?”
Officer, I declare myself an immigrant, a refugee, an exile, an opportunist
But your Fox News will declare me otherwise, and they will narrate my life
In the style of a nature documentary
Here we have the brown parasite, sapping nutrients from a lenient host
That just allowed this invasion
Thanks Obama
This “parasite” has a voice that declares this land is your land, this land is my land
From Ellis Island to Brownsville, Texas
A land built on broken treaties, immigrant labor, shopping malls
And corn
I declare a land seen through rose-tinted glasses
The cliché of every man, woman, and child flowing north, free trade, free exploitation
And an American flag waves in the distance over a detention center
A prison in South Texas
Where three little boys from Mexico, Guatemala, and El Salvador
Cry out for their missing mother in a song
A corrido about a deadly train and the struggle
Between ranchers and Jackals
And a river of brown and green sludge that hides the bodies of those who failed so hard so well
Bodies that declare themselves witnesses to the conflict between heaven and hell
And the hand that once drove a bayonet into Mexico’s heart
Is the same that took the still-beating hearts from prisoners of war
And offered them as sacrifices to the sun-god Huitzilopochtli
I declare we are pagans
We are pagans who take the entire head of the cow and scoop barbacoa into tacos
And eat fried worms bought from little bags in truck stops
And grilled grasshoppers from a man at the plaza
Pagans who thrive in suffocating heat and humidity
I declare we are the barbarians at the gates
And the poets in your midst and we are here to create
And build with you, not in spite of you and we want to be loved
Not feared
Because what is there to fear?
Fear the man with the badge who kills with impunity
In broad daylight
Fear the congressman who believes in a government so small
It can fit inside your bedroom, your closet, your uterus
Do not fear the man who faced a hundred deaths for his family
Do not fear the woman who will make every bad thing go away
With some vaporru and some caldo de pollo
Do not fear the children who will play outside in the dirt
With a rubber ball and tattered sweaters as goalposts
And fancy themselves champions of the world
Because I do declare we are the children of kings
And swear loyalty to those that call us hermano
And work with us to make things better for everyone
Because I do declare this land is my land
This land is your land
This land is our land