Floaters

Floaters is a poignant collection of poetry. The title is taken from the term for people who are found drowned having attempted to cross to enter the U.S. This is a moving collection of works dedicated to the immigrant
and migrant workers' experiences, social injustice, scattered with Espada's personal narrative as well as works inspired by true events, "ripped from the headlines" like my favorite "Boxer wearing 'America 1st' trunks with wall pattern defeated by Mexican boxer" Francisco Vargas. The imagery is vivid and moving (there may or may not have been tears shed during the poem "Floaters"...) evoking the spirits of the natural world such as with the poem "Love Son of the Galapagos Tortoise." The "Notes on the Poem" section added more valuable details to the poetry, which I appreciated. Wonderfully heart-wrenching and visceral work!

There is a lot of rage and grief and truth in this slim volume of poems, language being used to make sense of tragedy and senseless prejudice and structural inequalities. It is raw and smart and searing and I am better for reading words like in the first two stanzas of the titular poems:

"Like a beer bottle thrown into the river by a boy too drunk to cry,
like the shard of a Styrofoam cup drained of coffee brown as the river,
like the plank of a fishing boat broken in half by the river, the dead float.
And the dead have a name: floaters, say the men of the Border Patrol,
keeping watch all night by the river, hearts pumping coffee as they say
the word floaters, soft as a bubble, hard as a shoe as it nudges the body,
to see if it breathes, to see if it moans, to see if it sits up and speaks.

And the dead have names, a feast day parade of names, names that
dress all in red, names that twirl skirts, names that blow whistles,
names that shake rattles, names that sing in praise of the saints:
Say Óscar Alberto Martínez Ramírez. Say Angie Valeria Martínez Ávalos.
See how they rise off the tongue, the calling of bird to bird somewhere
in the trees above our heads, trilling in the dark heart of the leaves."

Some of my favorite poems were in the middle section, elegies and memorials for departed friends and mentors. I've not read Espada before, but I will be reading more.