The Valley by Esteban Rodriguez

The poems of Esteban Rodriguez’s The Valley feel honest and real. The details are perfect, exact and telling. The language and descriptions are not over-wrought. There’s no need to tell us the emotion—we feel it. Many of the poems are from a child’s eyes, not naive but not overdone. The book is just lovely. Buy here.

From “El Rio”

. . . Even in sleep my father’s at the river’s edge gazing some night at the fires spiting / darkness on the other side unsure if they’re signals accidents or warnings to him and / men like him that he shouldn’t cross that if he does what awaits once he’s trudged miles of / corpses and sagebrush is another river this one wider . . .

From “Spi”

Father’s Day And though we’re at the beach / he’s not sitting sleeping not bearing the sun / and forgetting how at work each day it sears / his face adds a layer of darkness he no longer / tries to understand No today minus the trunks / my father’s dressed like he’s about to mow / the lawn but instead of a trimmer he wields / like a soldier a metal detector ready to scan / the sand find mines I think until he says either / to himself or me Treasure not a word / I thought he knew in English but one that fits his mood / and prompts him to begin his search . . .

From “Recuerdo: Somnambulist”

Full moon And again your father / in briefs and with one sandal stands // at the edge of the yard cursing God / the stars cursing the chained dogs // that begin to howl . . .